


Chasing Smoke

by hazelwho



Series: Fire and Air [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: ds_c6d_bigbang, Firefighters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelwho/pseuds/hazelwho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benton Fraser is a Canadian smokejumper who finds himself in Arizona cross-training with a wildland fire crew led by Ray Kowalski, a veteran structural firefighter from Chicago who headed west after his divorce. You'll find most of the other dS regulars and a few new faces living in this 'verse too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omens/gifts), [j_s_cavalcante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_s_cavalcante/gifts).



> This fic was written for the dS/c6d Big Bang 2011. This story has been art-ified by [the fabulous Omens](http://archiveofourown.org/works/231979) and [the amazing j_s_cavalcante](http://archiveofourown.org/works/235064) \- go check out their work!
> 
> WARNING: minor character death. If you want to know who gets it before investing in 30K words, check the end notes for spoilers. There is also some made-up geography in here, based on real places I have been in Yavapai county, AZ. Timelines and relative ages of characters have been fiddled with. (I have bent time and space to my will - mwahahaha!)
> 
> The story focuses on Fraser/Kowalski, but there is background Turnbull/Frannie Vecchio and Ray Vecchio/Irene Zuko, a tiny bit of unrequited Thatcher/Fraser, and mentions of past Fraser/Victoria and RayK/Stella.
> 
> A million thanks to isiscaughey for beta work. She looked at this thing in January when it was mostly an outline and an entirely different story, and she beta read it in July when it was 30K and full of embarrassing grammatical mistakes. (I swear I really do know the difference between "its" and "it's".)
> 
> I also need to say that there is NO WAY this story would have gotten finished without hand-holding and cheer-leading from our lovely mods, lucifuge5 and akamine_chan, as well as mizface, andeincascade, omens, sageness, tres_mechante and the entire ds_c6d_bigbang LJ community.

Benton Fraser tugged on all his straps again and ran through his check-list one last time. He felt the plane banking to the west and he knew it was almost time. Turnbull, who had been talking to the spare parachutes for the last 30 minutes, lost the dazed look that sometimes seemed to be his default and went into jump spotter mode. His competent fingers touched, tugged, and smoothed as he checked over Fraser’s braces, boots, straps, risers, capewells, harness, helmet, rope, and bag.

 

The radio crackled and Thatcher told Turnbull that they were almost in position. Turnbull clipped on his safety line, opened the door and squinted between the ground below and his topographical map. He signaled to Fraser to hook up, checked the static line, and positioned Fraser at the door. Fraser looked over at Turnbull in time to see the serious spotter persona melt away again.

 

“You’ll want to make it back for dinner if you possibly can, Sir. I hear we’re having that specialty of the American Southwest, chili.”

 

“What was that about the wind chill?” Thatcher asked over the radio.

 

“Oh nothing, Sir, just chatting before the jump.”

 

“Charting?”

 

“No, Sir, chatting. To Fraser.”

 

Fraser felt Turnbull’s hand thump his back and jumped. It didn’t occur to him until two seconds in to his free-fall to pray that Turnbull was giving him the slap-out jump signal and not just a friendly pat. _Ah well, nothing for it now_ , he thought as he oriented himself to the terrain. Fraser was always at his most calm and confident when hurling himself toward danger. A few more seconds of fall and he had mentally overlayed the Arizona topo maps over the terrain, assessed the fire, determined where his help would be most useful, chosen a landing spot, and estimated that he could, in fact, get his line dug and hike down the mountain to base camp in time for dinner. He worked carefully and methodically for the next 10 hours, but nothing approached the clarity he felt during the jump.

 

 “So you’re the Canadians,” said the gruff bear of a man sitting behind a black metal desk. “Upon reflection, I imagine that pleases me. Harding Welsh. This patch of land is my responsibility.”

 

“Meg Thatcher, pilot.”

 

“Benton Fraser, smokejumper.”

 

“Renfield Turnbull, jump spotter.”

 

Welsh stood and shook hands all around as the Canadian team introduced themselves.

 

“Nice to meet you all. The US Forest Service, in their infinite wisdom –“ Welsh rolled his eyes skyward – “and the Canadian government have decided that we have something to learn from one another. Personally, I’m not sure exactly what that might be, but I’m willing to do anything I can to cooperate with you. Have you all given any thought to where you would like to be placed?”

 

“I understand there is a regional group of elite pilots that do low altitude sweeps to assess active fires and make drops to the remotely stationed crews.”

 

“Yes, Ms. Thatcher, those pilots supply the traveling hotshot crews. But we mostly use helicopter pilots for those tasks.”

 

“I am aware of that, sir, and I have a commercial helicopter rating as well. I would like a chance to fly with those crews and perhaps assess whether small aircraft could be used more efficiently for the same purposes. Planes are less maneuverable than helicopters, but in the hands of a competent pilot…well. The Canadian government has asked me to investigate both options in preparation for setting up our own low-altitude monitoring program.”

 

“Very well, I think that can be arranged.” Welsh rubbed at his stubble and looked over at Turnbull and Fraser. “Do you two want to stick with Ms. Thatcher here or would you prefer to split up and pursue your own interests?”

 

“Oh, yes, sir,” beamed Turnbull. “I would very much like to spend time with the administrative staff at your base camp. I have excellent organizational skills and enjoy cooking for large groups, so I think I could contribute –“

 

Turnbull trailed off as an attractive young brunette burst into the office wearing a USFS polo shirt that had been altered to show off her stomach.

 

“Harding, the Chief is on the phone for you.”

 

“Thank you, Francesca. I’m sorry, I have to get this. Ms. Vecchio here will show you where you can get dinner and I’ll make some calls. I’ll catch up with you all later.”

 

“Well, that was a very satisfactory meeting,” said Thatcher as they headed across the camp to dinner.

 

“Yes, sir, the Americans seem very obliging,” replied Fraser.

 

“I assume you’ll ask to be embedded with one of their ‘hotshot’ crews?”

 

“I had thought so, yes. It would be an honor to work with such an elite group of firefighters, an excellent application of my wilderness survival skills.”

 

“Well then, I guess we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other, Fraser. It will be…nice…to see more of you away from our usual jobs.”

 

Fraser put on his most densely bland face and responded jovially, “Why, yes, Sir, I have often found that working relationships become more efficient and effective after team-building exercises like this one.”

 

“Fraser…” started Thatcher, but Fraser slowed his steps to fall back in with Turnbull and Francesca, forcing her to drop the conversation.

 

“—out here when Pops died and opened a restaurant, and I followed them.”

 

“A restaurant?” asked Turnbull, eyes gleaming.

 

“Yeah, _Vecchio’s_.” She rolled her eyes, “Real original, I know. But they’ve got the best Italian food in Prescott. And speaking of food, here’s the Chuck Van.”

 

“Chuck wagon?” asked Thatcher.

 

“Van, wagon, truck, whatever,” she glared. “It’s just chili.”

 

The Canadians made their way through the line and found an open table. Turnbull tried to identify the spices used in the chili, pinning down the recipe within seven bites. Thatcher finished quickly and pushed her bowl away.

 

“Fraser, I need to go check on the plane again, and I could use another pair of hands. Will you join me?”

 

“I’m afraid I’m not quite finished eating.”

 

“When you’re done then, Fraser.”

 

“Ah. Well. I think perhaps I should wait for Mr. Welsh.”

 

Turnbull interrupted before Thatcher could make another argument. “Allow me, Sir. I’ve finished my meal and would be happy to assist you with tying down the plane. That way Fraser can finish his supper and speak with Mr. Welsh about his assignment.”

 

Fraser threw Turnbull a grateful glance and Thatcher glowered at him.

 

“Very well, Turnbull,” she sighed. “Come along.”

 

As Fraser pushed his meal around his plate and waited for Welsh, another truck full of firefighters returning from the line pulled up to the base camp. Four men got out, elbowing each other in the chili line and loudly congratulating themselves. One of the men rushed off to the HQ tent, running backwards and yelling to the others.

 

“I have to check in with Welsh, but you guys had better the hell save me some slop!”

 

The man was wearing his green Nomex coveralls, held up with red suspenders, over a t-shirt that was some indeterminate shade between navy blue and black. All the skin except for the spots around his eyes and one patch just under his left ear were covered in ash. His hair stuck straight up off his head, as if its owner had run his filthy fingers through it enough times to make it stay that way. His easy grace and wide grin were captivating. Fraser sighed and chastised himself for feeling drawn to a total stranger, sure that Diefenbaker would be laughing at him if he were there.

 

“Hey, man, can we sit with you?”

 

Fraser looked up to see the other three men, each holding a steaming bowl of chili.

 

“Of course, gentlemen.”

 

“Gentlemen? Whoa. That’s some classy language there, Smokey?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“The hat. You know, like Smokey the Bear.”

 

“Ah. Actually, I believe US Forest Service members wear a Stetson with what is known as a “Montana crease,” which presents a fold dead center on the forehead. As you can see, the creases in my hat deviate from that by 45 degrees, presenting a flat side centered over the forehead.”

 

“Is he for real?”

 

Fraser smiled his best earnest smile and was about to launch into an explanation of where exactly his hat had come from when the fourth man sat down with his bowl of chili.

 

“Ray, just in time. Meet Smokey the Bear.”

 

The man they’d called Ray’s arms were crossed in a defensive pose, but his expression was aggressive. Fraser was surprised to see that, up close he looked to be around Fraser’s own age, about 10-15 years older than the other three. Inexplicably, he looked personally offended by them teasing Fraser.

 

“You’re a real comedian, Dewey. Hardy ha ha. How many times do I have to tell you not to give people nicknames they don’t want,” said the newcomer in a flat, almost nasal accent that Fraser couldn’t quite place.

 

Dewey rolled his eyes. Fraser offered the man his hand.

 

“I’m Benton Fraser.”

 

“Sorry about them. I’m Ray. Ray Kowalski. I see you’ve met the Duck Boys.”

 

“Duck Boys?”

 

“Yeah, Huey, Dewey, and Louie. They didn’t even introduce themselves?”

 

“Oh, my…” said Fraser, at a loss for an appropriate response. “Really?”

 

“Nah,” said the curly-haired one. “That’s Jack Huey, this is Tom Dewey, and I’m Louis Gardino. I don’t really go by Louie.”

 

“Nice to meet you all,“ said Fraser.

 

“What was it you were _just_ saying about not giving people nicknames, boss?”

 

Ray flashed a wolfish grin at Gardino. “I said you can’t do it. But I’m the boss, and it’s cute when I do it.”

 

“Besides,” put in Dewey, “you’re another Ducker, Louis, and you know it. Get it? ‘Nother Ducker?” He waggled his eyebrows at his own joke, but was met with silence (Ray, Fraser, and Gardino) and a wince (Huey).

 

“I’m beat,” said Huey. “I’m turning in.”

 

The other duck boys looked down at their empty bowls and decided to follow suit.

 

 “Whatever,” waved Ray as he tucked in to his dinner.

 

Fraser sighed and scratched his eyebrow, wishing again that he was better at social interaction. He was trying to decide whether it was more rude to leave this man to eat alone, or to force his company on a stranger. Well, technically, he knew Ray’s name and Ray knew his, so he wasn’t a stranger. But Ray had sat down to be with his friends, who had now left. If Ray’s choices had been to eat alone or eat in Fraser’s company, he likely would have chosen a spot alone. At least, that’s what Fraser would have done in his --

 

“So, Fraser, what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”

 

“Ah. Well, I am part of the Canadian team that is liaising with you all this summer.”

 

“Oh, yeah, the International Cooperative Joint Training Thingy. Welsh said something about that last week. When do you start?”

 

“Actually, we were able to lend our assistance just this afternoon when –“

 

“Holy shit, you’re the smoke jumpers! You totally saved our bacon digging that extra fire brake. That let us get it contained before the wind picked up. I owe you a beer, man.”

 

“Why thank you, Ray, but I don’t drink.”

 

“Hmmph,” said Ray as he lit up. Fraser watched as his long fingers cupped the cigarette and lighter. “Betcha don’t smoke either, huh?”

 

“Well, no, Ray. Smoking is unhealthy for a number of reasons-“

 

“Fraser, look around you. All firemen smoke. There is no point in not having a cigarette to calm your nerves every now and then when you breathe fire for a living.”

 

“On the contrary, cigarettes contains tar and other carcinogens which…”

 

“Fraser?”

 

“Yes, Ray?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Understood.”

 

Ray smiled at this, his whole face cracking open and changing with the expression. It was impossible to look at the lines around his mouth and the laughing eyes, and not smile back. Fraser felt the left corner of his mouth lift.

 

Ray put out the cigarette even though it was only half smoked and carefully tucked the butt into a pocket.

 

“Is that why the guys called you Smokey? Because you’re a walking Public Service Announcement?”

 

“Actually, I believe my hat was enough to garner me that particular nickname even before I’d opened my mouth.” Fraser scratched his eyebrow. “And unfortunately, it seems to have stuck even after I explained that this was in fact _not_ a ‘Smokey the Bear’ hat.”

 

Ray stared at him a moment with furrowed brows.

 

“I don’t get it. What is it then?”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Why would a Candian smokejumper wear a hat that is almost-but-not-really a US Park Ranger hat?”

 

“Ah. It belonged to my father.”

 

“And what was he? Highway Patrol? Drill Sergeant?”

 

“He was a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”

 

“A Mountie? Cool.”

 

Fraser bit back uncharitable comments he could have made about his father indeed being ‘cold’ and groped for another topic.  He was saved from having to think of one by the appearance of three other men.

 

“Hey boss,” said the largest of the three.

 

“Hey Moose.”

 

“We were gonna head back. You want us to wait for you or just leave one of the trucks?”

 

“Leave a truck. I still have to see Welsh. I’ll catch you back at base.”

 

“Base?” Fraser inquired politely after the men had left.

 

“Yeah, we’re at a remote post north of Prescott normally. It’s pretty cool. Isolated, but that’s kind of nice sometimes. We’re only down here because they called in all the crews in Yavapai County for this fire. What about you guys? Where are they sticking you?”

 

“Mr. Welsh has been generous enough to offer us our choice of postings. He has already agreed to assign one of my compatriots to administration and the other to the regional pilots stationed in Prescott.”

 

“And you?”

 

Fraser opened his mouth to tell Ray about wanting to work with the hotshots, traveling from fire to fire, working alone in the wilderness, but what came out was, “I had thought I might ask to go to an outpost like yours.”

 

“Very well, Fraser,” said Welsh’s baritone from behind him. “Ray, I assume you wanted to tell me your crew was finished and heading back to the Bradshaw Mountains outpost.”

 

“Yep, that’s about it. Fire’s out, and we got all our gear packed up before dinner.”

 

Welsh nodded, then clapped his hand down on Fraser shoulder.

 

“Take Fraser here back with you.” He looked down at Fraser, “You can stay with Ray. He’s the only one with his own room over in the barracks. Ray can show you, if that’s all right with you?”

 

“Yes, sir, that will be fine. I’m looking forward to working with Mr. Kowalski and his men.”

 

“Good, good,” muttered Welsh. “You two should make a good team.”


	2. Chapter 2

After a long, bumpy truck ride about 40 miles past anything and up a mountain, they arrived at the outpost. Ray pulled the forest service truck up next to one of the buildings and got out.

 

“This is the garage, where we keep the engines and the spotter/chase trucks. On the other side of that’s the auto shop, then the wood shop, then storage,” said Ray as he headed across the lot to the second strip of buildings.

 

“This here’s our dorm. Behold what $45 a month gets you.”

 

“The fake wood paneling is quite fetching.”

 

Ray laughed and Fraser was taken aback for a minute that someone got his sense of humor.

 

“This is the laundry room. Machines only take quarters, 4 to wash and 2 to dry. Across the hall, we have the community space, which has our foosball table and the big tv. Most nights, all the guys can be found here, or on the porch if it’s hot.”

 

Ray opened the door and Fraser peered at the room and the men occupying it. Two raggedy sagging couches held 8 young men, all of whom were yelling at a video game two of them appeared to be controlling. Fraser noted that all the men were in their early 20s at the most, much younger than Ray and himself. The room was littered with empty beer cans, some of which had been used as ash trays and spittoons based on what was oozing out of the ones that had overturned onto the carpet. The carpet itself looked as if this kind of thing had been happening to it for decades.

 

“Guys…GUYS! This here’s Fraser. He’s Canadian. He’ll be in with me.”

 

Fraser got a chorus of grunts with a couple of _Hey, Smokey_ ’s and a few waves, and then their attention went back to the racing game.

 

Ray shook his head and muttered something about kids as he pulled the door closed again. The other four doors were evidently bedrooms. Each of the doors had an old white board stuck to it adorned with the nickname of the occupant, random insults, and the occasional lewd drawing. The middle room on the left was labeled, “Tank & Javie” with “the pig sty” scrawled beneath it and a cartoon of a pig; the room on the right said, “Huey & ~~Louie~~ IT’S LOUIS, ASSHOLES!”. The last room on the left said, “Dewey  & Moose” and was adorned with various phallic symbols. Ray’s door was the last one on the right. His board said “Chicago” and nothing else. Fraser assumed it was in deference to Ray’s position as engine foreman that nothing insulting or obscene had been left on his board.

 

Fraser stepped in to the room and looked around. Under the glow of a yellow bulb, he saw that the small space was divided into two sections. Nearest the door was the kitchen/bathroom area tiled in peeling linoleum. On the far wall sat a small fridge, an efficiency size stove, an ancient sink, and a door that led to a toilet and small shower. The living space was a 10’ x 17’ box surrounded by paneling and brownish red carpet. Camp beds in metal frames ran along either side of one corner. An old loveseat that once might have been beige and was now leaking foam lined the wall to the right. The loveseat faced a rickety looking shelving unit that supported a small tv, stereo equipment, and several large stacks of CDs. This shelving unit apparently also functioned as a pantry, as it held boxes of instant potatoes and minute rice, several cans of soup, and copious amounts of pre-packaged junk food. The room itself was fairly neat. Fraser had braced himself for squalor after seeing the community room, but Ray appeared to have more self-control than the younger crewmen.

 

“Welcome to Casa del Ray, Benton buddy. We got your kitchen area here, your shower and john through the door there, couch, stereo, and beds. The one on the right’s mine, so you’re stuck with the one that has the shitty mattress unless you wanna fight me for the good bed.”

 

Ray grinned and looked at him expectantly.

 

“I’m used to sleeping in fold-away cots, when I’m not on the ground, so I’m sure I’ll be fine in either bed. Please suit yourself with respect to mattresses.”

 

Ray snorted lightly and clapped a hand on Benton’s shoulder. “Frase, these here are gen-u-ine, US Government-issued, 3 inch thick, plastic covered prison mattresses. There is no ‘good’ bed; they are all shitty. I was yanking your chain, buddy.”

 

Ray puttered about for a few minutes, scooping his clothes off Fraser’s bed and dumping them on to the sofa instead.

 

“You got any sheets in that duffle, Frase?”

 

“I have my bedroll. That should be sufficient.”

 

“Stubborn Canadian. When we have a fire, when we are working 16 hour days and are stuck in the field, then Fraser, THEN it will be time to earn our ‘I tucked in on the floor, I hurt my back’ badges. This here, this is civilization, Frase. We have carpet and television and we get real coffee and flush toilets and sheets on the bed. Here, my top sheet will work for a bottom sheet and you can spread out your bedroll as a blanket on top – it gets surprisingly cold here at night – and you can use one of the couch pillows until we hit town again and get you your own.”

 

Ray rushed around the small room, making Fraser feel awkward and in the way. Since Ray’s clothes were now on the couch, Fraser stood in the clearing in the middle of the room. He watched as Ray pinballed around him, seeming to brush against him no matter how Fraser tried to anticipate and avoid being in his path. After clearing off Fraser’s bed, Ray pulled the top sheet from under his own bedspread, tucked it over Fraser’s mattress and the smallest couch pillow, and spread Fraser’s bedroll over the top like a quilt.

 

“There we go, Frase. Welcome home.”

 

Fraser was unusually touched by Ray’s efforts. It had been a long time since anyone had made up a room for him. _Face it_ , thought Fraser, _it’s been a long time since anyone’s made room for you at all_. Fraser rubbed his thumb along his eyebrow and tried to formulate an appropriate expression of gratitude, but Ray had already moved on.

 

“Okay, dibs on the shower. You make yourself at home, I’ll be out in 10.”

 

Ray then reached over his shoulder and yanked off his t-shirt, balled it up and threw it under his bed. Next he started on his coveralls, getting them half way down his thighs before Fraser remembered himself and turned away, flushing. Ray seemed unaware of Fraser’s discomfort as he hummed to himself and stripped down to his boxer-briefs. He then padded across to the bathroom. When the water started, Fraser was still standing in the middle of the room looking lost. His new roommate was a force of nature.

 

oOo

 

When Ray got out of the shower, it was immediately apparent the Canadians had invaded. Fraser had strung some sort of rope laundry line across one corner and hung his clothes over it. The coffee cup and plate Ray had left in the sink were now sitting in the drying rack. A tin of tea sat next to the stove. Fraser was lying on his back on his bed, which looked as if it now had hospital corners, reading what Ray recognized as the USFS Procedures Reference Guide.

 

Ray headed for his pile of clean clothes on the couch and dug up some shorts and a Bulls t-shirt. He pulled on the shirt first, then snuck the shorts up under his towel, removed the towel from his waist and rubbed vigorously at his hair. When he looked over at Fraser, his face looked a little pinched and red.

 

“All yours, buddy.”

 

“Ah. Thank you.”

 

Fraser put down his manual, carefully marking his place, as if he were actually going to go back and read the rest, haha, and scooped up a pile of red clothes from the end of his bed. He headed into the bathroom fully dressed, except for his boots, which were tucked neatly under his bed. Ray muttered something about freaks as he ran his fingers through his hair.

 

Ray could swear it wasn’t more than five minutes before the water turned off and Fraser reappeared, dressed in red Doctor Dentons and toweling at his hair. Ray stifled the urge to laugh, figuring they were some sort of arctic survival underwear – frostbite there would a bitch. Fraser climbed into the other bed and Ray turned off the light. After laying in the dark drifting for a few minutes, Ray felt Fraser’s restlessness. It’s not that he was being noisy, so much as Ray could feel his tension. After 15 years of marriage, Ray could read silences in the dark like a pro. Eventually Fraser let out a little sigh.

 

“Fraser? What’s wrong?” he whispered.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

“It’s okay, I wasn’t really asleep yet. What’s the matter?”

 

“Nothing’s the matter, Ray.”

 

“Bullshit, Fraser. What is it, too hot? Too cold? No moose calls? Just tell me.”

 

“It’s just that… I’m not really used to being indoors Ray. The muffled sound of the television through the wall, the hum of the refrigerator, they all sound so…unnatural.”

 

Ray smiled to himself. Only Fraser would complain about city noise out here, an hour north of the ass-end of nowhere.

 

“Huh. Guess you miss those great northern areas?”

 

“Yes Ray, very much.”

 

“Tell me about it. What’s home like?”

 

“I have a cabin,” Fraser started slowly, softly. “It’s about 5 miles by dogsled to the nearest town, so there’s no one around but me. The only noises are wolves and the wind and the fire snapping in the potbelly stove. The stars are enough to light my way at night, especially if there’s snow. And it smells like wide open spaces.”

 

“That sounds nice, Frase. I can see how you’d miss it. I grew up in Chicago, so the only sounds were horns and sirens and shouting. And the smells were mostly kielbasa and bigos.”

 

“How did you end up out here in Arizona?”

 

Ray sighed and was quiet a long time. “That, my friend, is a story for another time.”

 

“I’m sorry, Ray, I didn’t mean to pry.”

 

“No, it’s fine, it’s just…a long story, which I will tell you at a time that is not now. You weren’t prying. Okay?”

 

“Understood.”

 

The two were quiet for a while.

 

“Frase? I think I can help you.”

 

Ray got out of bed, crept over to Fraser’s bed, and knelt on the edge. He cursed in the dark as he tried to remember how the latches on the widow worked. He eventually got them opened and shoved at the old window. It finally went up with a whoosh and the scent of pine needles and the sound of crickets filled the room.

 

“Ray…thank you,” Fraser whispered. Ray fell asleep soon after, warmed by Fraser’s obvious gratitude for his hospitality.

 

oOo

 

Fraser was jarred awake when Ray’s alarm went off at 7:30 the next morning. He was surprised that he had slept so long, even though he had lain awake a long time the night before listening to the crickets and the soft breathing of the man next to him. In the darkness, Fraser had almost convinced himself that he was reacting foolishly to Ray’s innocent kindness. He told himself that he was reading too much in to Ray’s offer of friendship and casual touches, and he tried not to think about the way Ray’s soft belly and long arms had looked in the moonlight when he opened that window.

 

Ray slapped at the small clock, swiped blearily at his eyes, and headed to the kitchenette. He was beautiful and unapologetically rumpled as he stumbled to the kitchen in his boxer shorts. Fraser chastised himself for mooning and then pulled on clean clothes. Fraser heard a few thuds, followed by the sound of running water and another bang. When he made it in to the kitchen, Ray was staring intently at an old coffee pot, arms crossed and brows furrowed as he waited impatiently. Fraser filled the kettle and put it to heat on the stove. When he turned back around, Ray was holding the unchipped mug out toward him with his left hand while pouring himself a cup of coffee with his right. Fraser took the cup and nodded his thanks, even though the other man wasn’t looking at him. Ray’s non-verbal state was contagious.

 

Ray was on his second cup when Fraser finally got his cup of tea brewed. At the end of his second cup, Ray looked up and smiled at Fraser. He did a clap-and-rub combination with his hands and started in as though they were already in the middle of a conversation.

 

“Eggs? I got no bacon and no milk or cheese for omelets, but there’s eggs. Or granola bars, whichever. We’ve got, uh, 17 minutes to eat, brush our teeth and get over to the conference room for training.”

 

oOo

 

Ray had a hard time keeping a straight face while teaching because Fraser was somehow managing to _sit_ at attention. He was taking notes and making thoughtful faces while everyone else rolled their eyes and wished for more coffee. Ray thought it was actually kind of nice to have someone listening while he reviewed some of the training basics, but he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the overly-eager way Fraser raised his hand in a room with just six other students.

 

“Uh, okay, so now you guys give me the 10 and 18. Let’s start with the Ten Standard Firefighting Orders. Tank, give me the first one and then we’ll go around the room until we have them all.”

 

“Keep informed on fire weather conditions,” said Tank, “and forecasts.”

 

Ray nodded, “Good. Huey?”

 

“Two. Know what your fire is doing at all times.”

 

“Perfect. Gardino?”

 

“Base all actions on current and expected behavior of the fire.”

 

“Great. Javie?”

 

“Four. Identify escape routes.”

 

“And?” Ray asked.

 

“What?” asked Javie.

 

“Identify escape routes and...?”

 

“Uh. Escape?” tried Javie. The others laughed, but Ray scowled at him.

 

“Identify escape routes and safety zones and make them known,” said Ray. “Give me 30 push-ups and try it again Javie. You guys, there’s a reason the USFS makes you know these ten things by heart out of all the hundreds of thousands of things people have learned about firefighting. You always need to leave yourself a way out, and everyone needs to know where it is.” Ray stared intently at his crew, trying to scare a little sense into them. “We’ve all seen a fire turn on a dime, or jump straight up and burn across the tops of the trees, or do something completely unexpected. You need to know when to get out, and you have got to know where out is. Your only other choice is your shake and bake, and you do _not_ want to go there.”

 

“Shake and bake, Ray?” asked Fraser, drawing Ray’s attention away from the others.

 

“Yeah, Frase. It’s your fire shelter. Big silver sheet you shake out and pull over you, pinning it down with your arms and legs. It’s supposed to be fire-proof for a few seconds, but usually if you’re getting burned over, the air’s so hot it melts your lungs anyway. Mostly, the only thing a shake n’ bake will do for you is make it easier for them to identify your body,” he finished grimly.

 

“That’s a rather unconventional name for a fire shelter,” commented Fraser.

 

“Nah, it’s got a real name – something something personal protective something. But we all just call it a shake n’ bake, because it looks just like that foil bag you used to get in the box of Shake n’ Bake. You know, fake-fried chicken? _It’s Shake n’ Bake…And I helped!_ ”

 

“Ah, I see,” said Fraser.

 

“Okay, Javie. Wanna try Number Four again?”

 

The crew worked their way through the rest of the Ten Standard Orders and the Eighteen Watchout Situations without trouble and Ray lost his scowl by the end of the drill.

 

After their shift, Fraser and Ray returned to their room. Ray walked over to the shelving unit and stared at it, shouting over his shoulder,

 

“Hey, Fraser, what do you want for dinner? I got macaroni, I got rice-a-roni, I got instant potato flakes. Chicken soup, chili, tuna helper, minute rice…”

 

“ _Rice-a-roni_ , Ray?” Fraser sounded appalled, but Ray continued as if he hadn’t heard him.

 

“…Oh, hey, look, we have stuff for spaghetti. Get the meatballs out of the freezer.”

 

Ray put a pot of water on boil. When he turned around, he saw Fraser frowning at the meatballs. Ray grabbed the package from him, ripped open a corner with his teeth, dumped the meatballs into a glass pan, and shoved it into the tiny oven. Ray banged a saucepan down on the second burner and emptied the jar of sauce into it.

 

“Ray, do you know what’s in those so-called meatballs?”

 

Ray shrugged, “Meat. Meatball flavor. Probably a little sawdust.”

 

“And you’re okay with that? I’m sorry to say it, Ray, but you have appallingly bad nutrition.”

 

“Hey!” Ray pointed at him with a spatula, “I cook! Dinner tonight, that involves three pans. Three! I was married fifteen years, Fraser; my room is clean and I can cook real food when I want to. You’re lucky you’re not in with Tank. It’s his first time away from home and he hasn’t figured out what happens without his mom around to pick up after him.”

 

“I shudder to think,” Fraser deadpanned. “My mistake, Ray. You are an exceptional roommate, a man of elegant and refined tastes. If you’ll hand me that Ragu bottle, I’ll wash it out for recycling.”

 

The corner of Ray’s mouth lifted as he passed the jar. He jabbed at the air in front of Fraser with the spatula one last time, “And don’t you forget it.”

 

oOo

 

After their surprisingly edible dinner was consumed and cleaned up after, Fraser asked Ray for the phone number at base camp, hoping to check in with Turnbull. Ray gave it to him and Fraser started to head down to the pay phone he had seen in the laundry room the day before.

 

“Fraser, where are you going? There’s a perfectly good phone in here.”

 

“I know, Ray, but I thought this phone was for engine foreman business and the phone in the community room was for the crew to make personal calls.”

 

“Well, yeah, I guess, but you’re welcome to this one. What kind of host would I be if I made the Canadian call his girlfriend on the public phone within earshot of half a dozen overgrown teenagers? There are a few things in the shop I need to check on, so I’ll go do that now and give you some privacy.”

 

“I assure you that isn’t necessary,” started Fraser, but Ray already had his hand on the doorknob.

 

Fraser sighed and dialed. Within minutes, someone found Turnbull and put him on the phone.

 

“Hello!”

 

“Hello, Turnbull. How are you?”

 

“Oh, I am very well, Sir, thank you. How are you?”

 

“I’ll be fine, so long as I eventually find some fresh fruit and vegetables. Have you heard from Captain Thatcher?”

 

“She called to check in earlier this afternoon. She seems to be happy with the hotshot pilots, and she even seemed amused that they found her presence…ah…somewhat grating at times. She also expressed her surprise at not seeing you; she was under the impression you would be with the hotshot crew as well.”

 

Fraser bit back a sigh, but allowed himself to roll his eyes.

 

“Yes, well, as it turns out, I am at a remote posting in the Bradshaw Mountains. I thought I would be able do the most good here. I also thought that, since I am already experienced with individual wilderness firefighting, it would behoove me to make use of this training time to familiarize myself with a team-centric operation.”

 

“Say no more, sir, I understand you completely.”

 

“I believe you do, Turnbull.”

 

There was silence on the line for a moment while both men smiled.

 

“Sir, if I may… I have a favor to ask of you.”

 

“Of course, Turnbull, what do you need?”

 

“Ms. Vecchio, who you met at base camp, has invited me to dine at her brother’s restaurant this weekend. I think I would like.. that is, I would prefer… if you don’t mind, Sir, I would appreciate your company. It’s supposed to be excellent food, twice voted best Italian restaurant in Prescott.”

 

Fraser thought that was a dubious distinction at best, but he heard Turnbull’s nervousness and understood the other man was asking for back-up. He had seemed quite taken with Ms. Vecchio, and apparently she returned his affections. Playing chaperone was not on his list of favorite things to do, but Turnbull was the closest thing Fraser had to a friend and he hated to disappoint him.

 

“I’d be happy to accompany you two to town this weekend,” Fraser managed. The details were arranged shortly and Fraser was lying on his bed reading by the time Ray returned.

 

“What are you reading, Frase? More training manuals?”

 

“No, this one is my father’s journal.”

 

“His journal?”

 

“One of them. He kept them all his life, and I inherited them when he passed away.” Fraser scratched his eyebrow. “He wasn’t…around…much…when I was growing up, and, to be perfectly frank, I didn’t know him very well. Reading these is helping me understand the man he was.”

 

“That sucks about him being gone so much when you were a kid.”

 

“He took his duty very seriously.”

 

“Oh yeah, he was a Mountie, right?”

 

“Yes, he was a decorated officer of the RCMP. His remote posting and wide territory kept him out on the land and busy until the day he died, nearly a month ago.”

 

“Wow, just a month? If you don’t mind me asking, Frase, if he died so recently, what are you doing down here?”

 

 “Frankly, I couldn’t stand to hear one more person tell me what a wonderful man my stoic, disapproving, absentee father was, and it seemed like leaving Canada altogether was the only way to escape him.”

 

Fraser was surprised to hear the uncensored truth come out of his mouth, but Ray just nodded quietly.

 

“Fraser, you’re reading his diary and wearing his hat. Not really escaping him, are ya buddy?”

 

oOo

 

 _Shit_ , thought Ray as he took in Fraser’s gobsmacked expression. _Boundaries, Kowalski. You’ve known the guy less than a week; he doesn’t need you playing shrink for him._

 

Ray quickly changed the subject, “So, uh, did you get a hold of your girlfriend?”

 

“Girlfriend?” Fraser looked even more confused.

 

Ray frowned. He knew he saw a woman hanging all over Fraser when he first got in to base camp.

 

“Yeah, the pilot that came down with you. Brown hair? Canadian?”

 

Fraser blushed fiercely. “Ah. No, Ray, Captain Thatcher and I are most definitely not romantically involved. I was calling Ren Turnbull, the other Canadian in our party.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” Ray couldn’t quite figure out what that blush was for, but he filed it away as something to think about later. “So what do you want to do tonight?”

 

“ _Do,_ Ray?”

 

“Yeah, Fraser. What do you want to do for fun? I’m sure if we go hang out long enough, one of the kids will let you have a crack at that racing game.”

 

“I’m afraid that I am not very familiar with video games.”

 

“There’s a foosball table down there.”

 

Fraser made a face.

 

“There used to be a chess set. I was so happy to see it, but no one else knew how to play and it turned out it was missing two pawns and a bishop.”

 

“That’s unfortunate. I haven’t played in years, but my grandfather taught me well.”

 

“I learned from one of the old-timers down at the firehouse,” Ray smiled. “We did a lot of chess and cards and dominoes while we were waiting for a call. Maybe I’ll get another set next time we’re in town and you and I can play.”

 

“What do you normally do in the evenings, Ray?”

 

“I…uh…listen to music,” Ray hedged.

 

“What kind of music do you like?”

 

“All kinds of stuff, really. But, um, sometimes at night –“ Ray rubbed the back of his neck – “I like music I can dance to. My wife and I…my ex and I…we learned when we were kids and we danced competitively. Ballroom, mostly. We were pretty good.”

 

Fraser looked embarrassed and nodded in what Ray thought was a _that’s nice_ kind of way. Ray couldn’t believe he told Fraser that he danced alone sometimes. Fraser must have some kind of Canadian mojo that made people always tell him the truth, like Wonder Woman with that rope. Ray flashed on an image of Fraser lassoing him and reeling him in and then shook his head to clear the image. Ray sighed; his brain was a strange place these days.

oOo

 

It had taken a long time for Fraser to fall asleep the night before. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself thinking about Ray’s graceful form dancing, holding some faceless woman…his long fingers clasping hers, his head bent over hers. Then the image in his mind would shift as he substituted himself in as Ray’s dance partner. They were of a height, so Fraser would be able to look directly into Ray’s face as he spun them around. Fraser wondered how Ray’s hands would feel on his hands, his back, his neck. How Ray’s eyes would look as he led Fraser around the room, what he would say when they came to a stop.

 

Despite his short and fitful night’s sleep, Fraser was up at dawn the next morning. Ray was still in bed, making small snuffling sounds. Before he could dwell on Ray’s morning noises too long, Fraser hopped out of bed and went to the restroom. After he relieved himself and splashed some water on his face, there was still no sign of life from Ray’s corner of the room, so Fraser pulled on his sweats and headed outside to get in a quick run.

 

Fraser stretched at the edge of the path around the compound, breathing in the thin, crisp air. The sun was just rising, streaking the most spectacular oranges across the sky, and a stiff breeze blew through the pine trees. Fraser let the crisp air settle into his lungs, and tried to let the peace of the forest sink into his skin as he took off down the path.

 

As he ran, his body thudding along on auto pilot, Fraser’s mind wandered. He often processed the day’s activities on his runs, and his mind was a jumble since he hadn’t gotten to do it in days. He thought about Thatcher, about her renewed interest, and wondered how on earth he was going to survive another awkward let-down conversation. He thought about Turnbull and was glad that his culinary talents were such a big hit in the camp. Fraser often felt equal parts protective of and annoyed by Turnbull. He could be more dense than lead, and frequently did things that made Fraser question his own sanity for putting his life in the man’s hands. But at the end of the day, Renfield Turnbull was a good, honest, man who just wanted to be appreciated.

 

Fraser knew himself well enough to suspect some of his annoyance with Turnbull was really a cover for his enviousness of the man’s happiness. Turnbull seemed to be able to find joy in just about any situation, which was more than Fraser could ever hope to manage. His own disposition tended to be more maudlin and brooding, and he grew more withdrawn and less emotionally engaged as a response to stress. Not a bad thing in his line of work, since you couldn’t let fear take over for you when you were 3000 feet above a burning forest, but sometimes Fraser envied Turnbull’s ability to be happy. Fraser could remember moments of happiness over the years, but on the whole, he wouldn’t describe himself as happy. Not that he was unhappy, per se. More like he was a realist. Yes, that was it. He was just too _realistic_ to let himself be swept along by emotions. Indulging them was impractical and fanciful and not a productive use of energy. Fraser headed back to camp before he could analyze exactly what kind of fanciful and indulgent things he was wasting time and energy thinking about in regards to his new roommate.

 

When Fraser got back to the dorms, he saw that the marker board outside Ray’s room now said, “Chicago & Canada” with a rough sketch of the Chicago skyline and a reasonably accurate depiction of a maple leaf. Inside the room, Ray had not only made coffee, but had also put the kettle on to boil and set out a mug for Fraser.

 

“Hey, good, you’re just in time, Frase. Grab a shower, eggs’ll be done in 10 minutes.”

 

Fraser just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Something warm clenched in his chest, and he smiled more that day than he had in the past six months.

 

oOo

 

Ray was glad it was a patrol day – the crew got antsy after a few days in the conference room, and there was nothing like going out in the trucks to settle everyone down.

 

“Okay, guys, we’re patrolling today. Ducks and Moose, you’re in one truck. The rest of us will be in the other. We’re doing the long loop. Huey and I drive.”

 

 Now that there were eight men on the crew, it was a squeeze to get everyone piled in to two trucks, but the guys managed. After a few hours, they pulled into a gas station in Drake to refuel the trucks and grab something for lunch. When Ray came back inside to hand over a restroom key attached to a hubcap, he saw Fraser standing in line holding only a bottle of water. Ray shook his head at his new roommate, grabbed his arm without a word, and herded him back to the aisles of snack foods.

 

“Ray, what are we doing?”

 

“You need to get more than a water, Frase. This is our lunch stop. I know how you feel about junk food, but they must have sunflower seeds or granola bars or something you can eat here.”

 

Ray glanced over at Fraser, but the other man was just blinking at him with that deer-in-the-headlights expression, so Ray went back to rummaging. He briefly considered a package of cheese and crackers before deciding that “processed cheese product” wasn’t really a Fraser-y thing after all. Down to the bottom row then. Ray pushed aside the corn nuts that were spilling across everything else and finally saw something that would work. He held the trail mix up and read the contents: granola, oatmeal, raisins, dried cranberries, and cashews. Perfect Fraser food - it might as well say _promotes good colon health!_ right on the package. He tossed it over to Fraser.

 

“Here, Frase. Will you eat that?”

 

Fraser frowned at the bag a moment before nodding.

 

“Good. Greatness. Now we need some Ray food.”

 

He grabbed some peanut butter crackers and small bag of suckers for himself and smiled at the face Fraser was making at his choices. Ray led them back up to the register, flashed his USFS card to get the 15% firefighters discount that nearly all businesses out here offered, and bought their lunch.

 

oOo

 

“Thank you for lunch, Ray,” Fraser said softly when they were back in the truck.

 

Ray smiled his widest smile, the one showing off the lines around his mouth, and Fraser inhaled sharply. Apparently, what Tank and Javie were in the back eating was smelly as well as crunchy. Fraser grimaced and made a mental note to avoid ‘corn nuts’ and ‘Funyuns’ at future snack runs.

 

“Perhaps next time we do this, I should pack up sandwiches for everyone.”

 

Ray nodded and looked like he was fighting off another smile.

 

“Whatever you want, Frase.”

 

“How often do we go on patrol like this?”

 

Ray made a left turn onto the highway, checked that Huey was still behind him, and then shrugged.

 

“Once a week. More often if the fire danger is high. Less if we’re out on call. We look at the side of the roads, see if any brush needs clearing. Make sure our access roads are in good shape, and not being used by yuppies with ATVs as derby tracks, that kind of thing. Mostly it’s an excuse to poke our heads up, get out of camp for a bit, talk to other people – make sure the campers aren’t doing anything dumb and that the watch station guys haven’t gone all –“ Ray flapped a hand around near his right ear – “Jack Nicholson in _The Shining_ up there all alone on the mountain.”

 

Fraser wasn’t sure what that last part meant, but he nodded gamely anyway. He understood a little better what Ray was getting at after meeting Randall at Lookout Three. He was an old man who clearly had a routine that involved nothing more than binoculars, a radio, and a rocking chair. Randall was thrilled to seem the crew, telling them long-winded stories, asking Fraser lots of questions about Canada, showing Javie a new bird’s nest, and challenging Ray to two games of chess. Fraser thought he must be lonely given how starved for human interaction he seemed to be, but he’d been manning the lookout station for 40 years, so he must be happy doing it. Fraser took a moment to be thankful he had asked to be assigned to a crew instead of encouraging his own tendency toward solitude.

 

Halfway between the Lookout Post and home, Welsh’s gruff voice came over the USFS radio and alerted them that smoke had been spotted near their position. Ray acknowledged the call and then flipped the channel over to talk to the other truck.

 

“Huey?”

 

“Yeah, Boss.”

 

“Welsh just called. Someone called in a possible fire northwest of here. Looks like we’re chasing smoke this afternoon.”

 

“I’ll follow you.”

 

Fraser felt the anticipation, almost excitement, coming off Tank and Javie in the backseat, but Ray’s mouth was…serious, if not grim.

 

“’Chasing smoke,’ Ray?”

 

“What? Oh. Yeah, Frase. That’s what we call these calls. Maybe nothing, maybe we’re first on the scene of a major fire. You never know.”

 

“I hope we finally get a fire,” Javie muttered. He caught the look Ray shot him in the rearview mirror and backed off his statement. “Not that I _want_ anything to burn. I’m no firebug. Just, you know, we could use the excitement. And the overtime.”

 

Fraser watched as Ray kept his reflected glare going until Javie lost his grin and looked away.

 

In the end, it turned out to be a couple of illegal campers with a small cooking fire going. They had gathered up some rocks and made a fire circle, but Ray and his crew still had to run them off the preserve. Fraser noticed that most of the younger crewmen looked almost disappointed, but Ray and Jack Huey looked relieved that all the excitement had come to nothing. Maybe it was, as Ray would say, an age thing. Fraser could barely remember what it was like to be as green as some of the crew were.

 

As Fraser walked down the hall to his room that night, he noticed the updated white board messages. Gardino and Huey’s board said, “Call your mom, Louis” in Huey’s small, careful handwriting. Under that, someone had added, “For a good time, call Gardino’s mom!” Tank and Javie’s board said “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CLEAN YOUR ROOM!” in what looked suspiciously like Ray’s crabbed scrawl. On Dewey and Moose’s door, someone had taped up a picture of a man in a cowboy hat standing next to a photoshop-enhanced 8 foot tall rooster. The caption underneath read, “Man with large cock. Inquire within.”

 

Fraser scratched his eyebrow and sighed. Maybe Ray had a point about the juvenile stunts the younger men on the crew pulled. Then again, it’s not like Fraser could stop his own adolescent thoughts about Ray from intruding at inopportune times. With each passing day, it got harder for Fraser to resist the pull of whatever it was that drew him to Ray. _At least I don’t act on my thoughts, or feel compelled to share them with the rest of the world_ , he thought, giving the poster one last look. _That’s what being an adult means; curbing your childish impulses._

 

oOo

 

The following evening, Ray finally found the time to take Fraser into Prescott to hit the Walmart for flannel sheets and other essentials, and to Fry’s for (Fraser-approved) food. It ended up being an hour’s drive in to town, about 90 minutes of shopping, and another hour back to the outpost. Ray couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent that much time with another person, let alone _enjoyed it_.

 

Ray had told Fraser all about the GTO and its seven coats of jet black paint, explaining why he stubbornly held on to the car when a pick-up would be better-suited to the environment. Fraser had told Ray about his version of “learning to drive,” which involved sled dogs and provisions in case of blizzards. Fraser told stories that were sometimes funny and sometimes long and pointless, but Ray found he enjoyed listening to them either way. Fraser talked like someone who didn’t talk to a lot of people.

 

Ray found himself sharing bits of his own life in exchange. Maybe to even it all up, make it fair. Maybe because no one, not even Stella, had been all that interested in listening to Ray in a long, long time. Maybe just because for some crazy reason, Ray and Fraser made _sense_ together. They were like partners, like a duet. Ray almost said as much on the way home, almost admitted to Fraser how strangely close to him Ray felt after such a short time. But before Ray found a good break in that wall of Canadian verbiage, Fraser had changed the subject from childhood memories to Arizona geography and geology, curious about the area he found himself temporarily living in.

 

“It seems like a beautiful forest; a mix of pinion and ponderosa pines, if I’m not mistaken.”

 

“Yeah, Frase, that sounds right. Hey…uh, if you want, I can take you camping next weekend?”

 

Ray wasn’t sure why that came out as a question instead of a statement. Of course a guy would take his new buddy camping. There was nothing else to do up here, and guys went fishing, hunting, and camping together all the time. Inexplicably nervous, Ray looked over at Fraser, who (thankfully) was smiling like it was Christmas morning.

 

“Ray, that would be wonderful! I would very much enjoy such an outing.” Fraser’s face fell, “Except that I have another commitment this weekend. Would it be possible to postpone the camping trip?”

 

“Sure, no problem,” Ray nodded. He meant the words as he said them, but he couldn’t avoid the stab of jealousy he got when thought about Fraser already having plans his first weekend up there. Ray couldn’t quite figure out _why_ he was jealous of Fraser’s time either, especially since Fraser denied having anything going on with that Thatcher woman. And Fraser wouldn’t lie about something like that. On the other hand, Fraser had had one hell of a blush going on when Ray had asked about her. Hmm. He’d have to think about that.

 

Ray got the next piece of the puzzle Saturday afternoon when the _other_ Canadian had shown up, all smiles and aftershave and eager puppy eyes, to pick Fraser up for their date in town.

 

“Oh, hey, uh…”

 

“Turnbull, Sir. Renfield Turnbull,” the man pumped Ray’s hand.

 

“Yeah, Turnbull, right. So, listen, Frase’s still in the shower, so he’ll be another few mintues.”

 

“No problem, Mr. Kowalski. I am running a bit early myself, and I hadn’t arranged to pick up Fraser for another 20 mintues.” Turnbull leaned in close, winked at Ray, and stage whispered, “Truth be told, sir, I found myself too excited about the date to wait any longer.”

 

 _Oh_ , thought Ray, _OH, so it’s like that! Fraser’s date is with this guy. No wonder he blushed when I assumed he was Thatcher’s boyfriend._

 

“Where are you guys going?” asked Ray.

 

“We have reservations at a lovely Italian restaurant in town,” explained Turnbull, excitement evident in his voice. “They make fresh mozzarella in-house!”

 

Ray nodded his head as Turnbull went on about cheese and pesto sauce, while internally kicking himself for making assumptions about people. Ray quickly reevaluated all his discussions with Fraser over the last week, and, yeah it all fit. Fraser never talked about women or dating or his exes or anything like that. And Turnbull had been the one he called that night he asked to use the phone. Ray could smack himself in the forehead for not picking up on that one. _Be cool, Kowalski_ , he reminded himself _. Fraser’s a good guy, and it’s not like you’ve never had gay friends before. Of course he wouldn’t have said anything on his own. Why would he confide in you?_

 

By the time Fraser had appeared behind him all ready for his big night on the town, Ray had assimilated the new information and was able to smile at Fraser without any trace of shock on his face. In fact, as he closed the door behind them, Ray thought the only surprising thing was how okay he was with the whole idea of Fraser being gay. _It’s probably not exactly been an easy thing for Fraser and Turnbull to live with, knowing what I know about firefighter culture. I wonder if maybe that had something to do with their decision to volunteer to come to Arizona._

 

Ray shook his head to clear it. He was spending way too much time thinking about Fraser’s sexuality; it was getting weird. Or maybe it was just weird that he had never spent much time thinking about his own sexuality. It was just Stella for him for so long, and he never bothered questioning anything else.

 

oOo

 

“You jump _out_ of airplanes _into_ fires for a living? And you, you _watch_ him do this?? That’s your _job_? They _pay_ you for this?”

 

“Well, technically, Mr. Vecchio, I’m a spotter, which means –” started Turnbull, before he was interrupted by Frannie.

 

“Cut it out bro. Enough with the broiling!”

 

Ray Vecchio stopped ranting and frowned at his sister.

 

“You mean _grilling_ , Frannie?”

 

“Grilling, broiling, searing – what does it matter? The point is to knock it off, Ray!”

 

The Vecchios had the kind of family dynamic that always set Fraser’s teeth on edge, reminding him painfully of his own complete inexperience with large, loud family gatherings. Between the isolation of living in the Territories, his mother’s early death, his father’s long patrols, and his grandparents’ itinerant and ascetic lifestyle, Fraser had always thought that four taciturn people in the house at once was a huge gathering. And now that his father was gone, the closest thing to family Fraser had was a deaf half-wolf.

 

Frannie was wearing a black western-style shirt with a red rose embroidered on the back. She had only buttoned three buttons though, and used the tails to knot the shirt at her waist instead of tucking it in to her tight jeans. She crossed to Turnbull and slipped a protective arm into the crook of his elbow, still glaring at her brother. Ray seemed to get the message and backed off his earlier line of questioning. He threw his hands up and muttered under his breath.

 

“Doesn’t know the difference between grilling and broiling and here we are trying to run a restaurant…”

 

Fraser put on his most politely attentive face and stepped into the breach, “How long have you had the restaurant, Mr. Vecchio?”

 

“Oh, yech, call me Ray, _please_. It’s been, what, five years now that we’ve had our own place?”

 

Ray looked to his wife, who smiled back at him. “Five years this September. And they said we wouldn’t last.”

 

Ray smiled at his wife and the transformation was amazing. He was so soft and quiet when he was near her, quite a contrast to the loud, brash man he seemed to be most of the time.

 

Turnbull asked, “Is it hard to work side by side all day long like this and stay happily married?”

 

“No, Ren, it is not, and I’ll tell you why. Division of labor. I make the cannelloni and she makes the cannoli. Oh, speaking of cannelloni, I’d better go check on lunch.”

 

Turnbull was nodding, smiling at the couple. After Ray left, he turned to Irene.

 

“How did you two meet, Mrs. Vecchio, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

Irene smiled and looked over at her husband as he headed back into the kitchen whistling.

 

“Ray and I are from the same neighborhood, we grew up together, went to school together. In Phys Ed class in junior high, maybe 8th grade, they taught us all to dance.  For three weeks, we all had to stand there in our gym shorts and t-shirts and learn to box-step with rotating partners for 45 minutes a day. The girls were all about 6 inches taller than the boys at the time, and the boys all had sweaty, sticky hands and stepped on our feet. We all hated it, all my girlfriends and me. One day, Ray was my partner. I knew him from around the neighborhood, and he was on the basketball team with my brother. He was all scrawny with gangly arms and legs, but he carried himself better than anyone else there. He could even lead, which most of the others couldn’t manage to save their lives. But Ray just looked up at me and said, ‘Just let me lead. It’s all right. Just put your head on my shoulder and it will all be all right.’ And it was. I let him lead at dancing and then he asked me to help him with his math homework.

 

“We were together after that. It was a secret from my brother, until senior prom, when he saw us slow dancing, but by then Ray had gotten into U of A on a basketball scholarship and I just went with him, lit out that summer as soon as we both turned 18. Ray only played for the Wildcats a semester until he wrecked his knee, but we both got jobs and stayed. I worked the register in a bakery and Ray was a waiter at a fish place. Eventually we both worked our way into the kitchen, learning everything we could about cooking and baking. And then we opened this place about five years ago. I do all the pastries and desserts, and Ray’s the chef. All the recipes are his or Mama Vecchio’s, except the ziti. That one’s from the Zuko side. Ray keeps it on the menu because it’s my favorite.”

 

Ray returned with a tray of food as Irene finished her story. Fraser took the plates Vecchio passed down to him and shared them around, and then he looked away and blushed as Ray gave his wife a peck on the cheek. Ray Vecchio had so much – a job he loved, a business he had built, a wife he adored, and family who loved him, even if they sometimes showed that love through shouting. Fraser stamped down hard on his jealousy, reminding himself that there was no point in wanting things you can’t have. By the end of the afternoon, Ray’s good humor and loud affection had extended somewhat to touch himself and Turnbull. As they left, Vecchio shook both of their hands and patted Fraser on the back.

 

“You’re a good man, Benny, it’s been real nice getting to know you. You and Ren come back whenever you’ve got the time.”

 

Fraser was able to say with complete honesty, “I would like that very much, Ray.”

 

Fraser was surprised by just how pleasant he had found spending an afternoon with relative strangers, and was in a good mood as Turnbull started back to the outpost. Unfortunately, Fraser’s good mood didn’t outlast Turnbull’s enthusiasm for discussing either Francesca Vecchio or the food they had eaten for lunch.

 

oOo

 

Ray had been trying to find a way to casually slip something into a conversation that would reassure Fraser that he was cool with the whole gay roommate thing. Problem was, that didn’t seem like the kind of thing you could just slip in to conversation while brushing your teeth. Fortunately, early the next week was a patrol day. After lunch, Ray dropped Dewey and Gardino off to cut back some brush and continued up to check on Randall on their own. Huey, Tank, Javie, and Moose in Truck 2 were still out tagging trees to be cut back. On the way back down the mountain, Ray broached the subject.

 

“So, uh, did you and Turnbull have a good time at the Italian place?”

 

“Yes, Ray, it was a delightful, actually. You might come with us sometime. The proprietors are from Chicago, I believe.”

 

“Huh, that might be fun. But I wouldn’t want to be the third wheel. I hate that feeling.”

 

“As do I. It’s…uncomfortable.”

 

“I’m glad you guys had a good time though. Turnbull seems like a real nice guy.”

 

“Yes, he is.”

 

“How long have you two, um, been together?”

 

Fraser looked over at that, but Ray kept his eyes glued to the road and couldn’t tell what the expression was.

 

“He’s been my spotter for the last three years.”

 

Ray nodded at that. Either Fraser was pretty dense or he was trying to avoid talking about any of this. _C’mon, buddy, work with me here. I’m trying to tell you something good._

 

“Yeah. But how long have you two been _together_?”

 

This time Ray caught Fraser’s frown, “Three years. He transferred in to my base already having done his spotter training, and routinely went up with Captain Thatcher, myself, and the other members of our jump team.”

 

“Jesus, dense Canadian,” Ray muttered as he rolled his eyes. Time for the direct approach. “Hey, Frase, it’s okay. I know, I _know_ , and _it’s okay_. Do you hear me, buddy?”

 

“Ah. Yes. Of course Ray.”

 

Ray nodded. It was quiet for almost a minute.

 

“Ray? What’s okay?”

 

Ray tightened his hands on the steering wheel and breathed out through his nose.

 

“I know about you and Turnbull, Fraser. I’m sure you guys have gotten pretty good at hiding it up there in the Northwestern Areas, but I’m a city kid. I’ve seen things, had friends…” Ray rubbed his hand through his hair, “Anyway, I just wanted to say I know and it’s cool, and you don’t have to worry about getting any shit about your relationship from me. Okay, roommie?”

 

Fraser was quiet a moment, and then asked, hesitantly, “Ray? Are you … do you think that I’m dating _Turnbull_?”

 

“Well, yeah, Frase. I mean, A) he was your one ‘I’m here’ call, not the babe that was hanging all over you, and 2) _you went on a date with him last weekend_. I’m not stupid, Frase, and I’m also not a, whatsit, homophone.”

 

“Homophobe?”

 

“Yeah, that one.”

 

“Ray, I’m not dating Turnbull. I didn’t call Thatcher precisely _because_ she hangs all over me and I go out of my way to discourage her… attentions. And while I did, in fact, go on a date with Turnbull, the date was between Turnbull and Francesca. My role was more along the lines of chaperone.”

 

Ray felt like some great weight had been lifted off his chest, and he grinned at Fraser.

 

“Jeez, chaperone. That sounds like just the kind of crazy Canadian school-marm thing you would do. Ha! And I thought you were gay!”

 

Ray looked over to share the joke, and saw Fraser tugging his collar _and_ scratching his eyebrow. He was beet-red and his mouth was opening and closing. _Shit_ , thought Kowalski, _he IS gay, he’s just not dating Turnbull._

 

Ray called his name and got no response, so he reached out and put his hand on Fraser’s knee, shaking it until Fraser looked over at him.

 

“Hey, Frase. It’s okay. I _meant_ that.”

 

Ray smiled at Fraser until Fraser smiled back, tentative at first, but blossoming into a full-blown grin. The lifted-weight feeling didn’t leave Ray, and in fact a warm glow had settled into his chest.

 

“Ray?”

 

“Yeah, Frase?”

 

“It’s the Northwest _Territories_.”

 

“Understood,” Ray imitated in a dry voice, but he couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from lifting. Soon both men were laughing.

 

Ray pulled his truck up behind Huey’s back where they had dropped off Dewey and Gardino to find himself in the midst of a pinecone war. As he and Fraser got out of the truck, Moose called over to them.

 

“Boss! The Ducks have declared war! Come lend us a hand!”

 

“No fair,” whined Dewey, “That’d be 5-on-3!”

 

Ray watched the entrenched teams hurl pinecones at each other for a minute, then he grinned slyly at Fraser.

 

“Whaddaya say, Frase? Think we should show these desert kids how to throw snowballs?”

 

Fraser smiled back at him – _two of those big, real smiles in one day, wow_ – and the battle was joined. In the end, Ray and Fraser’s fresh arms, near-perfect silent communication, and years of experience beat out the younger men’s enthusiastic (if inaccurate) chucking.


	3. Chapter 3

It ended up being two weekends until Fraser and Ray got to go camping. Truth be told, Fraser was thankful for the extra time. Ray seemed to be fine with his inadvertent confession in the truck, but Fraser had had too much experience with people to trust that Ray would remain fine. To Fraser’s surprise, Ray was as good as his word and had not changed his behavior toward Fraser. If anything, they were closer than before. Fraser lived in fear that his friend would find out exactly what kinds of thoughts he was harboring toward the man, but Ray had yet to guess his secret. Fraser was doing his best to enjoy having a best friend, for the first time since he was a boy, and to eradicate any thoughts of Ray as anything but a friend from his head. Ray knew him better than anyone had in a long time, and Fraser was afraid he would be unable to keep his secret from Ray much longer. Fraser hiked along behind Ray, lost in his own thoughts, until Ray broke the silence.

 

“Tell me two truths and a lie, Frase.”

 

"Two truths and a lie?" asked Fraser

 

"Yeah, it's like a getting to know you thing, a party game. C'mon, Frase."

 

"Very well. My name is Benton Fraser, I'm a professional smokejumper, and I am 84 years old."

 

"No, no, no. Personal stuff, real stuff. Like…" Ray closed his eyes a moment, then sighed. "My old man disowned me when I became a fireman; he said I'd come home with the stink of work on me and it would never come clean…I am still in love with my ex-wife…I knew my marriage was over long before Stella served me with papers."

 

Fraser marveled at the courage Ray had that he could just lay himself bare like that so easily. "Which is the lie, Ray?"

 

"That would be telling," Ray said as he smiled his wolfish grin at Fraser.

 

"I loved a woman named Victoria once. It turns out she was evil. She dead now, and that's my fault."

 

Ray nodded thoughtfully. It was obvious which was the lie there - no way would Fraser be responsible for someone's _death_ \- but at least Fraser was getting into the spirit of the game. Now that the rough stuff was out of the way, it was time for some fun.

 

"I, uh, only ever had sex with one woman….I've kissed a guy though…And I've thought about having sex with a guy."

 

Fraser kept his head down, and Ray watched the blush spread up the back of his neck. Ray thought maybe he'd pushed Fraser too hard, or maybe that was his answer. He was just about to apologize and back out of the game when Fraser's head came up. There was some serious heat in Fraser's eyes, and whoa, not only was Fraser playing, he was doubling down. Fraser held Ray’s eyes for a long minute, and there was enough heat in his gaze to start a fire. Ray swallowed thickly, thinking he might be in real trouble. Fraser's tongue came out to wet his lower lip, and then he spoke.

 

“Our camp site is just ahead, Ray. I’ll fetch some water from that stream we just passed if you start the fire.”

 

Part of Ray was thankful for the respite, but most of him really enjoyed being pinned by that smoldering look from Fraser. That long look had left little doubt about Fraser’s own feelings, even if the Canadian was all business while they set up camp.

 

“Hey, trade you an energy bar for some of that jerky.”

 

“It's not jerky, it's pemmican.”

 

“What's the difference?”

 

“While both jerky and pemmican are examples of early food preservation techniques developed by many indigenous peoples independently, jerky tends to be marinated or seasoned strips of muscle tissue whereas pemmican contains a more energy-dense mixture of meat and fat.”

 

“Early food preservation, huh? Well, this energy bar here is the pinnacle of thousands of years of human advancement. It’s chock full of preservatives.”

 

Ray slid his eyes over to Fraser and was gratified to see a real smile on his friend’s face.

 

“So, Frase tell me about your life up there –“ Ray waved his hand to the southeast – “in Freezerland.”

 

“It’s … different,” Fraser paused to see that Ray really wanted to hear before continuing his explanation. “Each province in Canada has its own smokejumpers, not like the consolidated regional system employed in the United States. Turnbull, Thatcher, and I are based in the province of British Colombia during the summer fire season. However, I spend my winters up in the Northwest Territories. There are no smokejumpers there, which makes sense since there is an extremely low population density, lots of ice, and few trees. I do work as a volunteer fireman up there, and Dief and I are on the search and rescue team.”

 

Ray’s stomach sunk down to his feet. “Dief? Is that your, uh, partner?”

 

The corner of Fraser’s mouth twisted up. “Yes, Ray, I suppose he is.”

 

Ray could hardly believe Fraser had someone back home. Fraser didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would cheat, which made Ray wonder if the attraction he had been feeling between them was all in his head.  He swallowed and tried for casual. “Oh. How long have you two been together?”

 

“A long time now, maybe five years. Since he was a pup.”

 

“A pup?” repeated Ray.

 

“Yes, Ray, a pup.” Now that he was looking, he could see the teasing laughter in Fraser’s eyes. “Diefenbaker is a wolf. Or a half-wolf at any rate.”

 

“Diefenbaker. Is that Dief’s full name?”

 

“Well, yes, in so far as it is the longer version of the name I have given him. But really he is his own wolf, Ray, and only he knows his true name. I’ve asked him what he would prefer to be called, but, thus far, he has been content to be ‘Diefenbaker’.”

 

“How did you end up with a wolf?”

 

“I rescued him from an abandoned mine shaft, and then he rescued me. It was really quite remarkable for a wild creature, a wolf, to come back to help me. And I was only knocked unconscious a few times during the course of his rescue.”

 

“To bad he couldn’t come with you. I would have liked to meet him.”

 

“He wanted to come with me, but summer in Arizona is far too stressful a climate for an arctic wolf to bear.”

 

Of course Dief wanted to go be a big, bad smoke-jumping firefighter with Frase, but it’s not like that would work. Ray smiled at the mental picture of Dief strapped in to a parachute, floating slowly toward a fire. “You must miss him, huh?”

 

“Very much. Now that my father is dead, Dief is the only thing I have that would qualify as family.”

 

“My old crew back in Chicago, those guys were like family to me. Engine 27. We spent a lot of time together for a lot of years. You know my tattoo?”

 

Ray glanced over and Fraser nodded.

 

“I got it after my first fire. All those weeks of dragging hoses up endless flights of stairs and being made to feel stupid at every turn were worth it to be part of that team. It was a kitchen fire that spread to some curtains. The family all got out before we even arrived on the scene. It wasn’t a big fire, but we got it out fast enough to save most of what was inside. The house was on fire, and then it wasn’t. Fire is such a force of nature, this huge all-consuming thing, and we beat it back. We said, ‘no, you can’t take this house,’ and we held the line. It felt…”

 

Ray shrugged. He couldn’t describe it, but Fraser would understand. “Afterwards, all us rookies went out and got hammered, then got tattoos together. Most of them got our firehouse number or the Maltese cross, but for me it was different. I didn’t need to hold on to the job, the I’m-a-fireman part, just that feeling of being a team, being invincible when we worked together. So, _champion_ , like the spark plugs my dad swore by. How did you get in to firefighting?”

 

Fraser licked his bottom lip and smiled that secret smile of his.

 

“When I was very young, I wanted to be a Mountie like my father. The summer I was eight, I was outside practicing some survival skills that I learned out of one of the books in my grandparents’ library. I had thought it would impress my father the next time he visited, so I tried to master it on my own instead of asking my grandfather to show me. I must have been striking the flint for 20 minutes before the steel wool finally caught. I was used to living above the tree line, but this summer, my grandparents had taken the mobile library south. I quickly discovered that grass can be flammable.”

 

Fraser sighed and scratched his eyebrow. Ray smiled; Fraser was still embarrassed over something he’d done nearly 30 years ago.

 

“The local volunteer fire brigade came out, of course, even though there wasn’t much to do by the time they got there. My grandfather had thrown sand on it and managed to smother what few sparks were produced. But my grandmother decided to make me repair the brigade’s fire equipment for the rest of the summer as punishment. I walked to town every day and sanded axe handles, wound hoses, and, eventually, I even sharpened Pulaski blades. My grandmother had intended it to be a punishment, time to reflect on the carelessness of what I had done, but I fell in love with it.”

 

It was the first time Ray had ever heard the word ‘love’ come out of Fraser’s mouth. He sat and thought about that for a while, staring into the crackling fire, and then he told his own story about falling in love as a kid.

 

“Stella, she was my Gold Coast Girl. Out of my league, but damned if I wasn’t trying anyway. I was thirteen and she was my everything. Spent my summers fixing cars with my dad during the day and dancing with Stella at night. We were just kids, but I knew it was the real deal, and I hung on to her.

 

“College, she did Northwestern, I went to a JC. Stell knew all along she wanted to be a lawyer. Me, I wanted to be a cop or a fireman, something where you help people, something _real_. My old man, he worked in a meat packing plant. He wanted me to have some white collar job, not to ever come home stinking like work. But I always liked doing things with my hands. Fixing cars, fighting fires, it’s honest work. You show up, you sweat, you do your job, you get dirty, and at the end of the day that counts for something. Pushing paper, being an accountant or some shit like that, like my brother, it’s not the same.

 

“I lasted about a semester in college and then I dropped out and joined the CFD. My dad disowned me, but Stella still thought I hung the moon, so that was all right. After I’d been at it a year, me and Stell got married. She had a scholarship to Northwestern, but I put her through law school. I did that; my sweat, my blood. And I was happy to do it. We were a team, me and Stell. For fifteen years. And then…all the sudden, one day, it’s like she noticed I was from a different world. She’d get dressed up in her Donna Karan power suits and work 80 hours a week, and I’d do my 24-off-48-on shift, spending every other day living with a bunch of assholes who can’t cook, and then going home to my porcelain perfect wife. I had no problem with that, I always known Stella was better than me, deserved better things. Eventually she figured that out too.

 

“In the beginning, she was pissed at me for having to work the night she had a big corporate dinner. So I’d try my best to make it to all of them, even if I had just come off work and hadn’t slept in two days. I’d shower and dress up all nice and smile for the rich people because I thought it made her happy. In the end, I guess she was just embarrassed by me, by the way my fingernails were always dirty or the way the smell of smoke wouldn’t come out of my hair. She gave me a certificate for a manicure our last Christmas together. Can you believe that? A fucking manicure. Like that would last more than five seconds on me.

 

“Anyway, I realized neither of us were real to each other any more. She was my perfect Gold Coast Girl, who stayed exactly the same during the time I lived at the station and had nothing better to do than wait for me to get back. And I was her credibly blue collar guy, a conversation piece that was an asset to her politically so long as no one saw my fingernails were dirty. She served me with papers. I didn’t think she really meant it at first. Didn’t tell the guys at the station anything until one of them saw her with some Alderman. I just couldn’t believe she’d really moved on. I got a little nuts for a while, following her in my car and calling her drunk at night. I know I’m a loser, I know that, but I couldn’t help it. She was my everything. So what was left of me without her? I couldn’t even stand Chicago any more. It used to be my turf, my stomping grounds. But after the…divorce, it was just a collection of places I used to go with Stella. That’s where we used to go dancing. That’s where I took her to dinner after she won her first case. That’s the road we drove down the first time I tested out the GTO. That’s the 7-11 where Stell made me go buy one of those home pregnancy tests. That’s the hotel where we went to her senior prom. That’s the place we bought the futon we had in our first apartment. It got to where I was tearing up over the grocery store we used to buy broccoli in.

 

“I mean, it was ri-goddamned-diculous, Fraser. I was over the edge, and I was drinking a lot to drown out everything else. Anyway, I pulled my head out of the bottle around April and my old Chief suggested I go do wildland firefighting over the summer. Get out of the city, get my shit together. And it doesn’t hurt that, out here, when you’re off, you’re off. No call like back home, less chance of letting a night get away from me. You met Welsh, right? Yeah, so my old Chief is his brother, Wilson, and he hooked me up with a job. So, anyway, here I am in Arizona. What’s _your_ story, Benton Fraser?”

 

“Story, Ray?”

 

“Fraser, everyone over the age of 25 has at least one horrible, heart-breaking, character-shaping story in them. I showed you mine, now tell me yours.”

 

Fraser sighed and nodded, but then was silent for such a long time that Ray thought he wasn’t going to talk after all. When he finally spoke, Fraser’s voice was nothing like his normal voice. He didn’t project or enunciate or speak in complete sentences. His voice was rough and barely loud enough to hear over the crackling fire.

 

“Her name was Victoria.” Fraser closed his eyes, and Ray watched at his brow furrowed and then smoothed out. He looked strangely innocent with his eyes closed and his mouth open, and there was something hopeful and needy on his face. As Ray watched, Fraser’s expression twisted in pain. “She drove the get-away car.”

 

Ray’s eyebrows went up at that, but Fraser still had his eyes closed and he continued his story, gaining speed as he went.

 

“It was search and rescue after a big snowstorm. We had word that some Americans suspected of robbing a bank in Alaska were headed our way. It turned out one of the men died, one man headed south, and Victoria flew over the border in a light aircraft. The plane was forced down in the storm, and the pilot abandoned her.”

 

Fraser opened his eyes and glanced over at Ray. Ray didn’t know what kind of a response Fraser was looking for, so he just nodded silently and waited. Fraser looked down again and resumed his story.

 

“I tracked her to a place called Fortitude Pass. The storm had been blowing for days, and by the time I found her I had lost everything – my pack, my supplies. She was huddled in a crag on the lee side of the mountain, almost frozen, very near death. So I staked a lean-to with my ski pole and draped my coat around it, and I held on to her as the storm closed in around us. I kept talking to her to keep her from slipping away.” Fraser sighed. “It snowed for a day, and a night, and a day. And when I couldn’t talk anymore, I took her fingers and put them in my mouth to keep them warm.”

 

Fraser looked over at Ray again, this time holding his gaze. “I don’t remember losing consciousness, but I do remember being aware that I was dying. And then I heard her voice. She was reciting a poem, over and over. I couldn’t make out the words, but I couldn’t stop listening. She had the most beautiful voice.”

 

Fraser looked back at the fire and swallowed hard. “It was as though…I had known her forever. Across a thousand lifetimes.” He swiped at his eyes. “The storm finally broke and…we were alive. After a day, we found my pack, and we ate everything. Everything I had. In one meal. And it took us four days to reach the nearest outpost. And we camped that night just outside the town, within sight of the church’s steeple…And I held her in my arms…And we made love…And she asked me to let her go.”

 

Fraser looked back in Ray’s direction again.

 

“You see, no one knew that I had found her. The police didn’t even know her name. I could just…let her go…and she could walk away that night.”

 

Fraser sniffed and looked away.

 

“She said I wasn’t an officer of the law, I was search and rescue. And I had found her, had saved her. She begged me, ‘Please, Ben, please’”

 

Fraser trailed off to wipe his tears and Ray asked in a hushed voice, “You didn’t let her go, did you?”

 

“I would have done anything for her. Of course I let her go. I gave her what supplies we had left, my knife, my compass, and directions to my father’s cabin, knowing he’d be out on patrol.”

 

Ray nodded at that, because, yeah. He would have done anything for Stella if she asked, even if it was illegal, even after the divorce. Ray tried to think of a way to let Fraser know he got it, but Fraser wasn’t done yet. He finished the story in a detached voice.

 

“She froze to death half way there. The Mounties found the body a week later. They knew I had helped her. My name was engraved on the knife I gave her, a gift from my father. I was censured by my superiors, by the RCMP, by my father. Made me promise I’d never do anything like that again.” He made a small sound that was too bitter to be called a laugh. “No problem there. For whom did they imagine I would ever break the rules, now that she was gone? No one ever mentioned it again. It was plastered over in all the official documents, as thought I had dreamed the whole thing. And maybe I did. She was a criminal, but I thought I loved her. In my dreams she loved me back. But in my nightmares, I watch her die over and…” Fraser took a big breath, plastered a smile on his face and looked back over at Ray. “So there you have it, Ray Kowalski. One horrible, heart-breaking, character-shaping story, just as you requested. Now that you have it, what are you going to do with it?”

 

Ray couldn’t quite figure out the expression on Fraser’s face. What did he want? Understanding? Sympathy? Absolution? Ray wanted to give him whatever it was he needed, but, despite his best efforts, all that registered on his face was shock and sorrow. There was nothing to say in the face of a story like that, so Ray just held Fraser’s eyes and tried to put what he was feeling into his own. Apparently Ray’s intent wasn’t coming across, since Fraser’s face was still frozen, looking like a dog that wanted to please but was waiting to be kicked. Ray scooted over a foot on the log until he was nearly touching Fraser. Then he sighed, leaned in, and wrapped an arm around his friend. Fraser was stiff, but didn’t pull away from the embrace.

 

“I’m so sorry, Frase,” Ray tried, not knowing what else to say. Fraser crumpled in on himself and Ray was shocked to realize he was crying silently. As Ray watched, helpless, Fraser completely lost his shit. Ray hugged him harder and murmured soothing nonsense.

 

oOo

 

Telling the story of Victoria was bad enough. But even worse than admitting his weakness and folly to someone he wanted so badly to impress was Ray’s understanding and quiet acceptance. Fraser lost it when he realized Ray wasn’t repelled or horrified or disappointed, as everyone else he’d ever had to tell that story to had been. Ray had apologized to him, acting as though Fraser deserved to be _comforted_ in the face of all that he had done. That kindness had broken something inside Fraser.

 

Then Ray held him, and it was nothing like Fraser had imagined when he thought about being held by Ray. He was sitting on a log sobbing in a completely undignified manner, while Ray hugged him from the side. Ray held on as though there were nothing wrong with Fraser’s breakdown, muttering over and over, “It’s okay, Fraser. I know, I _know_. Shh. It’s okay.”

 

Eventually Fraser calmed himself. After a few shaky breaths, he raised his head. Ray’s eyes held none of the reproach that had been absent from his words. Fraser tried to summon up enough energy to feel embarrassed, but he was too exhausted and wrung-out to feel anything but _light_. He floated through the next half-hour, completely disconnected from his body as he and Ray carefully put out the fire and secured their food and garbage in the bear bag. He knew his body stayed too close to Ray’s, but he couldn’t make himself back away. Ray seemed to take both his closeness and his distraction in stride, directing him to simple tasks with soft words and touches.

 

When they crawled into their sleeping bags that night, Ray’s arm came out to tug Fraser close again. Fraser rolled over, inching as close to Ray as their sleeping bags would allow, and curled into his warmth. He fell asleep that night to the feel of Ray’s long fingers running through his hair. Fraser’s last thought before he drifted of was, _home_.

 

The next morning, Fraser felt all the awkwardness he had been putting off settle down on him. That was _not_ what he’d had in mind when he thought camping would be an excellent opportunity for them to get to know each other better. As usual, however, Ray seemed oblivious to Fraser’s awkwardness, and he groused and joked all morning just like it was any other day.

 

They fell in to step as they hiked back out, both quiet for a while. Eventually, Ray broke the silence.

 

“You know, Fraser, what you had with Victoria may have been a dream, but what I had with Stella was all a lie. Whole marriage, based on a lie.”

 

“I find that hard to believe.”

 

“No, it’s true. We were 13 and she was a Gold Coast girl, rich, went to private school. She was untouchable, but I was working it. We were in this bank when this guy, Marcus Ellery, pulled out a gun and robbed the bank. Everyone hit the floor like he asked, except Stell. She was frozen in place. He grabbed her as a hostage, then told me to get up and put the money in the bag for him. _Kid, get up. Turn around_. And when I turned around… I was scared, Frase, and I peed my pants.”

 

Ray looked nervous and embarrassed, so Fraser tried to reassure him.

 

“That’s a common response to fear in children –“

 

“No, no, that’s not the point. While Ellery was laughing at me, Stella got away from him. She thought I had humiliated myself _on purpose_ , so she could escape. She thought I was a hero, and I played along. But I was just a con job.”

 

“You know, Ray, in my limited experience with the subject, I’ve found that very few life-long bonds are formed based on whether one partner or another urinated in their clothing. I’m willing to bet that Stella looked beyond that one incident and saw the whole man.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re a smart, funny, kind-hearted and generous man who is a good firefighter and a good engine foreman. You work in a profession many would call heroic. You’ve helped save the homes, possessions, and lives of countless citizens of Chicago, and you’re an excellent mentor to these men on your crew in Arizona.”

 

“You really think that?”

 

“Yes, Ray, I do.”

 

They fell into a companionable silence as they continued to hike out. Fraser apologized when Ray bumped into him three times before he looked over and caught Ray’s flirty smile. Fraser found himself grinning in response and bumped Ray back. Ray hip-checked him and took off running down the path, laughing and whooping like a loon. Fraser found himself laughing too and gave chase. His predatory instincts took over and he tackled Ray to the ground when he caught up with him, careful, of course, not to crush any of their equipment. Ray was panting as he smiled up into Fraser’s face.

 

“You got me, Canada,” Ray breathed.

 

Fraser felt a wave a lust wash over him, and saw Ray’s eyes darkening in response. They stayed there, frozen for a moment, until Ray butted his forehead against Fraser’s. Then he smiled that bewitching, shy smile of his.

 

“Don’t tell the kids, okay? And don’t you make any smart-assed remarks about me quitting smoking either.”

 

Fraser laughed and let Ray up. Their easy comradery fell back into place as they continued down the path. Fraser sensed there was something different about it now though. Their friendship had settled over their attraction like a blanket, not to stifle it, but to keep it warm.

 

oOo

 

Thursday night after work, Ray wandered out on to the porch for a smoke. He wasn’t surprised to see that some of the guys were already sitting on the porch, listening to a small radio playing Johnny Cash. It was hot still, would be for another couple hours until the desert night dropped the temperature, and there was no A/C inside. Dewey was smoking, and Fraser and Tank were oiling their boots. Everyone except Fraser had a can of beer at hand. Ray set down his glass of Scotch and fumbled in his pockets. As Ray lit his cigarette, Fraser set his tall maroon boots aside and picked up a knife and a piece of wood. He stared at it intently before nodding to himself and starting in at it with the knife.

 

“What’cha doing, Smokey?” asked Tank.

 

“Whittling,” replied Fraser.

 

“Wow, people still do that kind of thing?” marveled Dewey.

 

Fraser looked like a bird with ruffled feathers. Before he could finish preparing what Ray was sure was going to be a speech about how whittling was a perfectly good pastime and a valuable skill, Ray broke in.

 

“What’s it going to be, Frase?”

 

Fraser looked at him and the corners of his mouth turned up just a little. “Two pawns and a bishop, Ray.”

 

Ray looked down and smiled, nodding. “Is that a challenge, Canada? ‘Cause you look like you could use a good ass-kicking.”

 

That got a real smile out of Fraser. “We’ll just see about that, won’t we?”

 

Before they got too carried away with the smack-talk, Huey came out to join them on the porch.

 

“Hey, guys, did you know Saturday is Gardino’s birthday?”

 

“How old’s he gonna be?” asked Ray

 

“Twenty-one,” replied Huey. Some of the guys grinned at that.

 

“We gotta take him in to town, get him fucked up,” said Dewey.

 

Ray rolled his eyes at the kids, “Please don’t tell me you guys are dumb enough to give someone alcohol poisoning just because it’s their birthday.”

 

“We have to see if he’s man enough to hold his liquor, don’t we?”

 

Ray and Fraser sighed in concert.

 

oOo

 

When Javie and Louis got back from fishing, the crew planned to head in to town on their next “weekend” to celebrate Gardino’s birthday. Fraser was surprised to be included in the plans, but it seemed like a genuine invitation from his crewmates. He hadn’t realized anyone on the crew but Ray actually enjoyed his company. He offered to be a designated driver, since he rarely drank, which further endeared him to the crew.

 

All the younger crewmen dressed up for the evening out, even though they were only going down to what Ray had called “the local shitkicker”. Fraser expected that Ray, as the jaded elder statesman of the group, would just pull on another of his faded t-shirts or ratty sweaters. He was completely taken aback to see Ray in a pair of Levis without holes and a soft white flannel shirt.

 

Fraser caught the keys Ray pitched to him. Most of the men on the crew drove trucks, so Ray’s GTO with its back seat was ideal for this kind of trip. Dewey and Javie were the other designated drivers, since they were too young to drink. Ray would look the other way when it came to a beer after work in their rooms at the outpost, but refused to let them use their fake IDs to drink in public. Dewey took Moose in his white ’93 Ford Ranger, Javie took Tank in his restored ’48 Chevy, and Fraser drove the others in the GTO.

 

Ray needled Fraser about his driving all the way down the mountain, and Fraser found himself being increasingly prissy in response.

 

“Oh for god’s sake, Frase, put your foot down. This is a classic car. It is physically _embarrassed_ to be driving this slowly.”

 

“That may be, Ray, but at least it won’t be _overturned_. Honestly, I would expect this kind of speed demon mentality from some of the younger crew members – no offense, Louis – but not from you. Aren’t you supposed to be an adult?”

 

“I’ll be a grandfather by the time we get to town,” Ray grumbled.

 

“Would you like to drive, Ray? I will pull over right here and –“

 

“Geez!” shouted Huey, “You guys are worse than my parents! ‘ _I’ll pull this car over right now…_ ’ and all that. Stop with the bickering!”

 

Ray looked chagrinned. “Sorry, Frase. I was just yanking your chain. I didn’t think you were taking it personally.”

 

“No problem, Ray. I understand that teasing and pranking are expressions of intimacy deemed acceptable in homosocial male environments.”

 

“It’s shit-talk, Frase, and it doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“That’s what I said, Ray.”

 

“Understood,” Ray grinned.

 

oOo

 

Ray had been watching Fraser all night long. He watched Fraser sip a soda and tell a long and strange story about traditional birthday celebrations in the Northwest Territories involving something about a cabbage and bobbing for trout. He watched Fraser as he used his freaky radar to keep tabs on all the kids, making sure none of them ended up in trouble. And Ray watched Fraser watch him. Ray had claimed a corner of their table, and was leaning with his back against the wall and his feet stretched out over a couple empty chairs whenever their occupants were up playing darts or feeding quarters into the juke box or dancing drunkenly with anyone who would have them. Ray had one arm slung over the back of his own chair, and he held his whiskey in his other hand.

 

He knew Fraser was watching him. Ray felt Fraser’s gaze rake up his legs, skitter across Ray’s dangling arm, flick over to watch as Ray ran his fingers along the rim of his whiskey glass. Fraser’s eyes followed Ray’s hands when he moved and focused on his lips when he talked. It had been a while since anyone had looked at Ray like that; he had forgotten what a heady feeling it was. Ray enjoyed his time being the center of Fraser’s universe, around which all other things orbited. Ray kept one eye on the kids, and when no one was looking, did his best to return Fraser’s heated looks.

 

Making his own appraisal of Fraser kept Ray occupied for 45 minutes. The man was gorgeous. His perfect hair and blue eyes and smooth skin were beautiful, and so was the crooked tooth that showed when he really laughed. He was wearing yet another flannel shirt, this one red and fuzzy with age, and a pair of jeans that were just this side of too tight by Chicago standards. Cowboy standards, Ray had learned, were somewhat different. Most of the kids on the crew were poured into jeans that clearly showed worn white streaks down the legs where they had been ironed, and the outlines of their wallets and snuff tins in the back. Ray’s own jeans were his usual style – Chicago casual wear – but his shirt was a nod to Arizona, a white soft flannel thing with honest-to-god snaps up the front. He had thought it was funny when he saw it at the Farm & Fleet and bought it mostly as a joke, proof that he had really lived in Arizona. The shirt was soft and warm, but it looked like it had nothing on Fraser’s shirt. Ray eyed that shirt (and the arms underneath) again, flicked his gaze up to meet Fraser’s, licked his lips, and took a slow sip of whiskey, ramping up his game with Fraser.

 

oOo

 

Eventually the crew was sufficiently drunk to feel like they’d really made a night of it, without getting to the point where anyone did anything regrettable. Fraser, Javie and Dewey levered everyone back into their vehicles and headed back to the outpost. Everyone poured out of the cars and wandered off to play video games (Tank and Huey) or off to bed (Dewey and Ray). Gardino required help from both Fraser and Javie getting into bed, but he didn’t look nearly sick enough to worry about. Javie got a white industrial-looking bucket from the rec room and put it next to Gardino’s bed.

 

After making sure he was settled, Fraser stopped by the tv room to make sure everyone else was doing all right before heading back to his own room. He was surprised to open the door and hear music. The stove light was on in the kitchen, but the overhead light was off. Ray stood in front of his CD player swaying softly to the music. He turned around when Fraser pushed the door shut. Fraser blushed as he looked at Ray, but Ray just grinned at him and looked up at him from under his eyelashes.

 

“Dance with me, Frase?”

 

“I don’t dance very well, Ray.”

 

Ray just opened his arms and waited for Fraser to cross the room to him. Fraser went as if he were being drawn there and folded his own arms around Ray. Ray swayed them back and forth a little, humming under his breath.

 

“Frase,” Ray breathed softly into his neck.

 

“Ray.”

 

Ray nuzzled into his neck and Fraser threw his head back, pushing into the touch. Ray kissed beside his ear, then along his jaw. Ray hesitated just a little more and then captured Fraser’s mouth.

 

oOo

 

Kissing Fraser was _nothing_ like kissing Stella. Fraser’s mouth was wide, much bigger than any woman’s he had ever kissed, but it was soft and hot and eager and just what he needed. Ray hadn’t been kissed by someone who really wanted to devour him since he was a teenager. Fraser pushed the kiss into Ray’s mouth and took over, hands skimming up Ray’s sides. Ray shuddered under his touch. Fraser licked at Ray’s lips and then kissed along his jaw, down to his neck and back up.

 

Ray felt stunned stupid. It had been a long time since he’d felt another person’s hands on him, and Fraser had big hands - men’s hands. Every time Fraser’s stubble scratched Ray, it sent an electric shock buzzing through his system. It was an entirely new sensation and all of Ray’s available brain cells were too busy _feeling_ to do much _doing_. Ray was pretty sure this was the lamest seduction in recorded history, but it was all he could do to keep standing upright. He focused hard for a moment and came up with, “Mmmm.” _Great stuff there, Kowalski, your moves are second to none_ , he thought. But it must have worked for Fraser, because his big, warm hands started undoing buttons and clothes began to disappear.

 

That jump-started his brain and Ray made with the active kissing again, wrapping his arms around Fraser’s back. Then the words came spilling out of Ray’s mouth.

 

“So good, Frase, this is so good. Is it always like this?”

 

“What?” asked Fraser, and Ray was proud to notice that he sounded out of breath too.

 

“Kissing guys, is it always like –“ Ray waved a hand between them.

 

Fraser cocked his head to the side. “I thought you said you had kissed a man before.”

 

Oh. Yeah. Ray blushed. “Um, no. That one was the lie, Fraser.” Ray watched as Fraser went back with his perfect recall and remembered the set of statements, and… _there_ , he just figured out Ray had only ever been with one person. Fraser frowned a little and pulled back a few inches.

 

“Are you sure you…That is to say…” Fraser sighed and scratched his eyebrow. “Ray, what are we doing here?”

 

“Whatever feels good, Frase. Let me make you feel good.”

 

Ray leaned back in and kissed Fraser softly until he felt Fraser sink back in to it. Then Ray put some heat into his kiss. Soon enough, Fraser was back with him, licking and grabbing and pulling at their remaining clothes. Ray’s cuffs got hung up on his hands and Fraser growled at them. Ray laughed and quickly unbuttoned them, dumping his shirt on the floor. Fraser was still glaring at the offending garment when Ray mock-tackled him, pushing him back on to his bed. That got Fraser’s attention back on Ray. Fraser flipped Ray over and the two held their breaths as the rickety bed swayed ominously. It held, and they finished undressing more gingerly until they were lying on top of Fraser’s bedroll, pressed up close.

 

Ray hissed at the warmth of skin-on-skin and couldn’t help but push into the contact. He felt Fraser’s hardness against his hip, just beside where his own erection was digging into Fraser’s hip. It was a strange and new sensation, but Ray found it incredibly erotic. He knew exactly how it felt to Fraser, since it was a mirror of what he was experiencing. He moaned and tried an experimental thrust.

 

Good, good, it was so _good_. He pulled Fraser in for another soft kiss, then let his hips do what they wanted as he attacked Fraser’s neck. Fraser made a muffled, needy sound and found the perfect counterpoint to Ray’s rhythm. Their legs tangled together, their arms gripped and pulled, and Ray hit a groove on Fraser’s body that was really doing it for him. Ray pressed his mouth into Fraser’s shoulder and came with a surprised grunt. Fraser’s hips pumped into the mess between them for another few seconds.

 

“Ray, Ray, Ray,” Fraser chanted, sounding increasingly breathless and desperate.

 

Ray found the energy to turn his head and lick at Fraser’s neck. He tasted salty sweat and smoke and flannel and _Fraser_. He nipped a little at the delicate skin and felt Fraser tense and come. After a handful of lazy thrusts into the puddle between them, Fraser sighed deeply. He pulled Ray close and kissed his forehead, the closest bit of Ray he could reach with his lips. Ray fell asleep with a numb arm, a sticky belly, and a smile on his face.

 

oOo

 

Fraser awoke sticky and stiff and crowded onto one side of his bed. As soon as he inhaled, the memories of the night before rushed back to him. Fraser cursed his own stupidity for starting something with Ray after Ray had been drinking. An awkward ‘morning after’ was just what he deserved, Fraser thought. It would serve him right if Ray was angry with him, and it would teach him yet another lesson about what happened when he let go of his control and gave in to his carnal impulses.

 

Fraser managed to lie in the bed waiting for Ray to wake up and be mad at him for all of ten minutes. After that, he took the coward’s way out and snuck away from Ray, into the shower, and out for a run without waking his roommate.

 

He didn’t see Ray until morning PT and wasn’t sure how to act around him. Ray _seemed_ the same as always, though Fraser knew better than to trust appearances. He was jumpy all morning, but fortunately it was a busy day and there was plenty to occupy his mind. By afternoon, he had calmed down, but as soon as the crew was done for the day and he and Ray returned to their room, he could feel himself tensing up again.

 

Ray just kept smiling at him, and, once they were back in their room, continued with those easy touches, hip checking him at the sink, letting his hand accidentally drift down and brush Fraser’s back side as he stood at the stove. Apparently the night before wasn’t a drunken mistake, and Ray fully intended to go on as he had begun. Fraser could barely contain his elation.

 

After dinner, they played chess; after chess, they went to bed. Fraser was touched by the quiet intimacy of getting undressed together, intentionally going to bed as a couple. The few sexual encounters he had had over the years had all been passionate but brief. None had been repeated. Lust had carried him – and his partner for the night – through the awkward parts in a rush to see, to feel, to taste.

 

This was something wholly different, something deliberate and terrifying. Ray seemed unphased by this new experience and Fraser remembered he had been married for 15 years. And Ray had admitted last night that his ex-wife had been his only partner. Ray had only had a first time _once_ before Fraser, but he had had this, this frightening intimacy of going to bed with someone, _thousands_ of times. Fraser stood gob-smacked until Ray touched his arm, concerned.

 

“You okay, Frase? You look a little freaked out there. Are you wigging out about us doing it?”

 

“I am not, as you say, ‘freaked out’ at the idea of making love with you, Ray. It’s the part where we’re doing it _again_ that’s getting to me. I haven’t had very many, or really any –“ he tugged his collar – “ah, repeat encounters.”

 

“Oh, a relationship virgin,” Ray grinned his wolfish grin. “We’ll take care of that soon enough.” Ray hesitated then, and his smile disappeared as his face went carefully blank. “That is, if you, uh, want to, Frase. I shouldn’t have presumed. We don’t have to if you don’t…we can just be buddies again.”

 

“No, no, Ray, I most definitely _do_. Want, that is. A relationship. With you.”

 

Ray smiled again. “Okay, so we’re on the same page then. You’re a little blown away by the relationship thing, but we’re good, we’re great, we’re greatness.” Ray pressed up close to Fraser and ran his lips along Fraser’s collar bone. “Do you want to hear what blows me away? I can’t believe how hot you are. How good it is to be naked with you, Benton Fraser. How badly I want to hold your cock, stroke it and make you come.”

 

That got Fraser’s head back in the game, and soon he was guiding Ray back toward the beds. Ray glanced behind him and then grinned.

 

“Your place or mine, Canada?”

 

Fraser took a moment to process the question, then laughed. “Yours, I think. I shudder to think what kind of state my bedroll is in after last night.”

 

Ray winced at that. “Yeah. Tomorrow, we do laundry. But tonight, tonight we mess up my bed.”

 

Fraser let Ray maneuver him out of his clothes and into the bed. Ray undressed too, but instead of lying down with Fraser, he sat beside him on the edge of the bed.

 

“Frase, can I…is it okay if I look at you?”

 

Fraser swallowed and nodded, not trusting his voice. Ray’s beautiful hands with their  oddly-jointed fingers swept over his shoulders and skimmed over his ribs. Ray brushed his nipples and Fraser sucked in a breath. Ray smiled and glanced up at Fraser, as if to let him know that his reactions were being recorded and would be used against him later, and then Ray continued his exploration. He ran his fingers over Fraser’s belly next, rubbing over the soft hair there as it led downward. Ray swept out and pushed his thumbs into the groves in Fraser’s hips, then pulled his hands back and looked at Fraser’s erection. It was taking all of Fraser’s self-control not to thrust his hips or reach out for Ray.

 

“You’re different than me – uncut?”

 

Fraser nodded, “I am not circumcised. I was born in a barn, and—“

 

“A _barn_? Why—No, Fraser, I refuse to be distracted here. Tell me, is there anything, um, different? That I should or shouldn’t do?”

 

“I’m very sensitive here, just under the head.” Fraser’s fingers brushed Ray’s and his cock leapt under their touch. Ray batted Fraser’s hands away, closed his fist over Fraser’s erection, and gave it a few strokes.

 

“Ray, Ray, Ray.” Ray finally looked up. “Please, Ray, come up here.”

 

Ray smiled and let go of Fraser, stretching out beside him. Fraser leaned in and kissed Ray, nibbling at his jaw. Ray turned into him and started thrusting against Fraser’s stomach as he had the night before. Fraser stilled him with a hand to his hip.

 

“Something else, Ray, I want to show you…” Fraser couldn’t finish, but Ray nodded anyway. Fraser took his hand and pulled it down between them. He closed Ray’s long fingers around both their erections. They each groaned at the feel of the other pressed tight against them. Then Fraser moved Ray’s hand, slowly stroking over both of them. Ray moaned loud enough that Fraser felt compelled to shush him, mindful of the six young men sharing their living space. Ray curled his head into Fraser’s chest and panted against his nipple. Ray’s strokes became erratic and he licked at Fraser’s nipple. One tiny bite from Ray pushed Fraser over the edge. Ray followed seconds with a shuddering sigh.

 

After a few minutes, Ray groped around behind him on the floor until he found his t-shirt. He rubbed at the mess on his hand, then swabbed the shirt between them before pitching it over his shoulder again. Fraser couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“And you told me you were the neat one.”

 

That started Ray laughing too. Their laughter fed on each other, and they dissolved into what could only be described as a fit of giggles. Each time they got themselves under control, one or the other would snort and they would start up again. Eventually, the laughter had run its course and they laid quietly exchanging soft touches, crammed up on one single bed, both uncomfortable but unwilling to move. They took turns asking each other questions in the dark, the answers coming more and more slowly as they drifted toward sleep.

 

“Favorite pastime,” asked Ray with a yawn.

 

“Reading. I was raised by my grandparents, who were traveling librarians, so I read extensively growing up. I haven’t read much lately, but I spend many winter nights at home reading by firelight.”

 

“What kind of books do you like best?”

 

“I don't suppose it's terribly surprising that I enjoy non-fiction a great deal. As a boy, I loved adventure novels - Zane Grey and Edgar Rice Burroughs. I still have a number of those yellowing dime-store paperbacks with red- or green-inked edges, but I haven't reread them in years. What about you? What’s your favorite pastime?”

 

“The car. I love working on the Goat. I don’t do nearly as much as I used to, but even changing the oil or putting on my snow tires… it makes me happy to do that kind of work, where you can see at the end of the day that something’s different. And I love driving that car. Engine humming smoothly, radio up, windows down. On one of those perfect fall days in Chicago, just cruising. It’s as close to heaven on earth as you can get. My turn. Why smokejumping? How’d you get started with that and why one earth would you go for it?”

 

“The first time I jumped into a fire zone was about 7 years ago. They were recruiting people for jump training in the province where I lived, and I thought I would be an ideal candidate. I already had years of experience as a wildland firefighter, I have an aptitude for geography and the three dimensional thinking essential for reading topographic maps, I have honed the survival skills necessary for being self-sufficient for extended periods after my jump, and I am able to suppress the fear response most people have to jumping out of airplanes. Smokejumping also afforded me the opportunity to work more independently…I don’t really fit in with people, Ray. I have Dief, but… Smokejumping is a good career for people like me.”

 

Fraser felt Ray frown, as though he were going to take issue with that, so Fraser asked, “Have you ever been injured on the job?”

 

“Injured...yeah, I mean we've all been singed a bit, gotten bruised and cut up our hands. But nothing bad's happened to me out here yet; I haven't cut off my toes with a chainsaw or anything. Back when I did structural fires in Chicago, I had a beam fall on me once and knock me out. My buddies dragged me out and I had a bitch of a concussion. And one time I had to go to the hospital for smoke inhalation after I, um, put my mask on this old woman I found inside.” Ray fidgeted and Fraser felt the blush that warmed his face. “But, uh, I've been really, really lucky over the years.”

 

“Do you ever get scared, Ray?”

 

“Well, I don't really feel it, like, in the moment. I don't stop as I'm entering a burning building and think to myself, _maybe I should reconsider my career choices_ , ya know? When I was first starting out, I felt the fear, but only later, when I was home sitting on the couch drinking a beer and it suddenly hit me, holy shit, I could have died today. But after my first couple of years... It's a job, you know? I mean, it's the same as if I were a racecar driver or a cop or something. Yeah, maybe it's all thrills at first, but then it's a job. You're serious about it and you get good at it and you do what you're trained to do.

“So the fire part, nah, not that scary. What freaks me out about the job is letting down the people I work with. All the guys on my crew out here are 10, 15 years younger than me, and they look up to me as engine foreman. That's a big difference between structural and wildland firefighting. These guys, they spend 8 or 9 months a year as college students or stockers at the grocery store and just do this during the summer season. We get mostly college kids, and hardly anyone stays on more than a few years. Some of the kids I've got on my crew are so green they've still got blisters from their brand new boots. So I'm, like, the experienced one out here, even though I've never done wildland before and I couldn't tell poison ivy from cactus. It's a lot of pressure, to be responsible for keeping them safe and in the right place at the right time...Uh, yeah, so that's the scary part of the job for me…Hey, that was two questions, sneaky Canadian! What scares you about the job, Frase?”

 

“Truthfully, the part of the job that scares me most isn't jumping out of planes or battling a force of nature that could easily kill me. For me, the most frightening thing is having to depend on other people. I don't like it when I can't pack my own chute. I don't like it when I'm supposed to work with a team and hope that other people have done their job to keep me safe. I suppose this isn't exactly a new facet of my personality, since my father and grandparents instilled the values of self-sufficiency and independence in me at an early age, but I find I am even more wary of teamwork lately.

 

“I work out of a base in BC during the summer, but I spend most of the year at my cabin in the Territories. I am, of course, part of the fire brigade up there, but above the treeline there is little in the way of wildfire. We take care of the occasional kitchen fire, but mostly we do search and rescue work. I enjoy the search and rescue operations very much - I've always had an aptitude for tracking and I learned wilderness survival skills as a young boy. I confess that since arriving in the United States, I have felt somewhat out of my depth. My arctic survival skill-set doesn't seem to be transferring all that well to Northern Arizona, and I am unaccustomed to sharing living space with so many men and constantly working as part of a team.”

 

“You’ve been great, Frase. I had no idea you weren’t feeling comfortable here!”

 

Fraser pulled Ray closer and kissed his shoulder.

 

“Thanks to you, Ray, it almost feels like home.”

 

Fraser was half asleep and too tired for once to worry about what he was giving away about his own feelings, so he let his declaration stand a minute. Then he asked his next question into the darkness.

 

“Where do you want to go that you’ve never been before?”

 

When Ray answered, he spoke slowly and the words slurred with sleep.

 

“I've never really had that urge to travel that some people get. I was happy with where I was, and I don't really like planes too much anyway – I could _never_ do what you do, crazy Canadian. When I was married, Stell and I used to talk about getting away when we had the time. I always argued for a nice tropical island, somewhere with mellow music and a beach and people juggling fire and dancing in grass skirts and a pig roasting on a spit. But it never felt real, ya know? Just a pie in the sky dream because you're supposed to have one of those.”

 

After a long pause, he continued softly, “Since I've met you, Frase, I really want to go see the Northern Lights, maybe have...not a vacation, really, but, like…an _adventure_ up there. Yeah.”

 

Seconds later, both men were snoring softly.

 

oOo

 

Ray agreed to go with Fraser the next time he visited Vecchio. It was important enough to Fraser that Ray almost didn’t mind spending up one of his days off that _could_ have been spent in bed with Fraser drive down to Prescott. It was a beautiful day, cool and smelling like pine, and Ray put the top down. Cruising down the mountain road, the sun broke through the tree cover, dappling them with sunshine. Ray felt happiness bubble up in him, a feeling he hadn’t had in _years_. He let the summer day soak in to him and smiled over at Fraser, who was watching him as he drove.

 

“Frase, are you watching for smoke over there?”

 

“What? I thought we were off duty, Ray.”

 

“Yeah, but when we’re together, we’re always chasing smoke, Frase.” He did his best Springsteen growl, “Because when we kiss – fiiiiirre.”

 

Fraser still looked confused. Ray considered cutting bait on his lame joke, but he was feeling so freaking _joyful_ , he decided to commit fully.

 

He got his shoulders going, kept time with one hand drumming against the wheel, and sang, “I’m driving in my car. I turn on the radio. I pull you close, you just say no. You say you don’t like it, but I know you’re a liar. ‘Cause when we kiss – _fire_.”

 

The corners of Fraser’s mouth were turned up, either at the sentiment or at Ray’s attempt at singing, but he managed to deadpan, “Ray, are you serenading me with a song about date rape?”

 

“What? GAH! No, Frase! Don’t _do_ that, do not ruin the Boss for me.”

 

“Ray, the girl in that song is clearly rejecting the boy’s advances –“

 

“Nope, no, no, that’s a sweet song. They like each other and _it’s sweet_!” Ray put his finger in his ear when Fraser up again. A pretty ineffective move since he still had one hand on the wheel, but the noise of his “lalalalalala” helped drown him out. Fraser cracked up. Score one real laugh for Ray.

 

oOo

 

Unfortunately for Fraser, the actual visit with Ray Vecchio was nowhere near as nice as the drive in had been. For reasons that Fraser couldn’t fathom, the two Rays took an almost instant dislike to one another. Ray Kowalski flinched each time Ray Vecchio called him “Benny” and Ray Vecchio picked at Ray Kowalski’s appearance –

 

“Nice of you to dress up there, Kowalski. Who did your tailoring, the Salvation Army?”

 

“Up yours, Style Pig.”

 

Fraser tried to build bridges.

 

“Ray,” he said to Vecchio, “Ray here is a connoisseur of Italian food, especially pizza.”

 

Ray Vecchio snorted. “It ain’t the same thing, Benny, believe me. Real Italian food – pastas and sauces and crusty bread and seafood sauces – is nothing like delivery pizza. Especially not the cheap, crappy delivery with whatever weirdo toppings _he_ orders.”

 

“Ham and pineapple,” said Kowalski, bearing his teeth.

 

Fraser didn’t know what else to do, so he spoke, at length and in an overly jovial tone.

 

“Actually, Ray, pizza _is_ Italian food of the oldest tradition. Around the time of Christ, Publius Virgilius Maro penned _The Aeneid_ , the tale of the founding of Rome by refugees from Troy after that city was destroyed by the Greeks 800 years prior. It was prophesized to the Trojan leader, Aeneas, that he would found a great empire, but before that happened he was doomed to wander the lands until his men were so hungry they ate their own tables. Aeneas did wander for ten years after the Trojan War, stopping only briefly in Africa for a tryst with the Phonecian queen Dido. When they landed in what is now Italy, Aeneas and his men feasted with the locals. They piled food onto large, stiff pieces of stale bread and ate well for the first time in years. When they finished the food, they were still hungry, so they ate the bread – which had served as their tables during the meal, thus fulfilling the prophecy. It is speculated that these were the world’s first pizzas, and they were definitely of Italian origin.”

 

Fraser got a round of polite grunts, but nothing more from Ray Kowalski, who was usually so eager to hear his stories. Fraser frowned. He didn’t have many friends, and he couldn’t understand why these two didn’t get along with one another.

 

oOo

 

Once they were back in the car and safely on the road, Ray took a few deep breaths and tried to calm himself down.

 

“Frase, why the _hell_ did you tell Vecchio about me peeing myself in the bank?”

 

“I was trying to build common ground between you, and I thought that went well with the story Ray Vecchio had just told about foiling a robbery a few years ago.”

 

“And you don’t see any kind of _difference_ between Vecchio saying how he heroically and single-handedly scared off some punks with a baseball bat, and you telling him that _I peed myself_ in public when I was a kid?”

 

Fraser frowned. “No.” Ray seethed and choked the steering wheel.

 

“Well, it _is_ different, Frase. Besides, that’s _my_ story, _my_ pain and humiliation and you had no right to share it with anyone else.”

 

“Ray, don’t you think you’re being just a little unreasonable?”

 

Ray took a deep breath and tried to remember this was Fraser’s first real relationship. He tried to remember back to the early 80s, when he and Stella had first learned to fight with each other. “How would you like it if I told Vecchio all about Victoria?”

 

Fraser blanched. Direct hit. “But Ray, that’s hardly the same. You’re the only person I’ve ever told that –“ Ray glared at him and the penny dropped. “Oh. _Oh._ Ray, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

 

Ray sighed. He had a headache. “It’s okay, Frase. Just…don’t do that. Relationship rule number 12: don’t tell anybody my secrets. Okay?”

 

Fraser nodded. He was quiet for a while, but Ray could hear him thinking from across the car. “What, Frase?” he asked as gently as he could manage. “What is it?”

 

“I just don’t understand, Ray. You two have so much in common, but it was as though you had mutually decided to dislike one another from the beginning.”

 

“We don’t really have all that much in common.”

 

“But you’re both from Chicago.”

 

“Yeah, Frase, but there are eight million people there, and millions more that are ‘from’ there. It’s not like we’re both from Inuvit or something.”

 

“I thought surely the dancing –“

 

“Fraser, one, just because someone fell in love dancing a waltz in PE class in nineteen-seventy-something doesn’t mean they “dance”, and, B, telling them your new boyfriend won tons of competitions with his wife makes it awkward as ass for _everyone_ , believe me.”

 

“But –“

 

“The only thing we really have in common is you, Frase. And you’re great, you’re greatness. Is it any wonder we fight over you?”

 

Fraser wasn’t mollified, but at least stopped talking about it for the rest of the way home.

 

Fraser visited the Vecchios alone after that. Ray tried not to be an ass about it, because he hated that pinched face Fraser made when he felt pulled in two directions at once. Ray even loaned Fraser the Goat every time he went in to town, even though he resented that Fraser split his weekend time 50-50. Fraser had said Ray was irrational and pointed out that is wasn’t really 50-50, since he spent every single weeknight with Ray as well. They disagreed, but they had worked out a routine that worked well enough for both of them and kept them from fighting. _Relationship rule number 3: compromise_ , Ray had said, and Fraser took the lesson to heart.


	4. Chapter 4

The crew was halfway through morning PT when a call came in from Randall at the lookout post; he had spotted a large column of smoke. There was no chance of it being just a campfire this time. Fraser watched as the younger men grew excited and Ray grew serious.

 

Ray sent everyone back to their rooms to put on their Nomex pants and fire-resistant shirts, and grab their helmets and personal gear. Ray and Fraser dressed quickly and headed out to the shop to gather equipment. They worked silently gathering up Pulaskis, rakes, combis, hoes, saws, and hatchets, dancing around each other as they packed bags. The younger crewmen filtered out to the trucks one by one and helped get the engine and the two chase trucks loaded and gassed up.

 

“Me and Frase in the engine. Huey, Dewey, and Gardino in truck 1. Moose, Tank, Javie, you’re truck 2.” Ray tossed walkie-talkies to Huey and Moose. “We will be first on the scene by about four hours. Our job is to assess the fire, call in a detailed report, and start digging line.” He gestured to the large map mounted on the wall of the shop. “The smoke’s here. There wind is blowing southwest. There’s a natural firebreak to the west, a creek that supposedly actually has water in it. Our priority is to dig line here –“ he ran his finger in a line to the south of the indicated fire “— and contain the blaze. Question?”

 

No one said anything. Ray looked at each man in turn. “Okay then. Mount up.”

 

Fraser knew better than to try to talk to Ray as they rode out to the scene. Ray was planning, running through scenarios in his head and figuring out his deployment for each. Knowing they wouldn’t have back-up for another couple hours meant every decision Ray made would effect what kind of a fire it would be.

 

When they arrived as close to the site as their trucks would allow, Ray surveyed the scene and called in for weather reports and updates from the lookouts. Fraser waited with the others, trying to remind himself Ray was not his partner but his boss out here, but his eyes kept straying back to the cab of the truck where Ray talked on the radio. Soon enough, Ray stepped out and waved everyone over to where he was spreading a topo map out over the hood of truck 2.

 

“Good news first. Winds are holding at 8 miles per hour, south southwest, so we’ve got some time on our side. Bad news is we’re on our own out here for at least the next six hours. The guys at the Drake outpost are out on patrol, halfway to Flagstaff, without their equipment. And the hotshots are hell and gone from here, across the border in New Mexico. So we’re setting up shop a bit further south than I thought, about here. That ought to buy us enough time to spread out and dig a good line. Huey, your truck will be out here on the western-most part of our line. Moose, you guys will be the center. Fraser and I will be east. Team leaders, use those walkies to check in for weather updates. Everybody remember your Ten and Eighteen. Be safe. Be smart. Kick ass.”

 

Fraser stepped back and let the team leaders huddle around the map, marking down coordinates and asking questions. Moose’s team was already in place and they started unloading their gear. Soon, Huey rounded up his men and headed west. Fraser and Ray left the engine and took truck 2 out to their assigned position. Fraser understood that Ray was in work-mode, but something selfish in him was glad when they were on their own again.

 

After they arrived at their position, Fraser wordlessly helped Ray unload their gear. Ray grabbed the Pulaski, since he was lead, and Fraser picked out a rake and a combi-tool for himself. Fraser turned to Ray for last minute instructions from his boss. Ray squinted at him for a moment, then smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. Fraser was dumbfounded, frozen in place as Ray set off.

 

“Come on, slow poke. Daylight’s burning and we’ve got line to dig.”

 

Fraser felt himself smile, even as he hustled after Ray carrying thirty pounds of gear. Ray called the spot for the start of their portion of the line and they set down their gear. Fraser used his combination shovel-and-pick and Ray used the combination axe-and-adze. They broke ground and, over the next fourteen hours, slowly and methodically cleared a groove three feet wide in the brush.

 

The fire came closer to their line as the afternoon wore on, blowing ash everywhere. By the time they stopped for a quick dinner of protein bars and Gatorade, both men were covered in sludge from crawling through the ash and dirt digging line. They were joined just before sunset by a few men from the Drake crew and the firebreak progressed more quickly with the additional hands and fresh arms. Shortly before midnight, the spotter planes and water choppers from the regional hotshot crews arrived. Fraser spared a moment to wonder how Meg Thatcher was doing before pulling his bandanna up against the smoke and getting back to work.

 

oOo

 

Ray was pleased that things went fairly quickly after the water drops began, and the fire was contained just before dawn. Welsh radioed to say that only the northeastern most part of the fire was still burning. Ray had everyone spread out to walk over the char, checking for hotspots. He took the most easterly portion of the thousand-acre search for himself and Fraser.

 

He couldn’t stop smiling at Fraser, at the way their duet had worked. Ray had never had that kind of communication and cooperation with anyone before, on or off the job. Not even Stella, not even in the early years. It was intoxicating. And so was the sight of Fraser, all sweaty and dirty. He filled out his firepants better than anyone had any right to, and his shirt was pushed up past his elbows. He had an axe slung casually over one shoulder. Fraser’s face was grubby, but his eyes were bright.

 

Ray controlled himself only until he was sure his sector was clear and that they were far, far away from anyone else. Then he pounced, dropping his pack and pushing Fraser up against a tree, kissing him with everything he had. Apparently, Ray’s grody look was working for Fraser too, since it took all of three seconds before Fraser reversed their positions, licking Ray’s throat and grinding up against him. Ray had just enough blood left in his brain to decide bark burn was a bad idea and he tumbled them down to the ground. They were on the far edge of their sector where the fire hadn’t quite reached, so the forest still smelled of pine needles underneath the burned-and-wet-wood that pervaded. Fraser pulled a small pinecone out from under his back and glared at Ray.

 

“Sorry,” Ray offered, grinning unrepentantly.

 

Fraser got his revenge by flipping them over. Ray whapped his head on the ground and something was poking him in the ass, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, because Fraser had rucked up his shirt and was licking his nipples and murmuring against his skin.

 

“Missed you, Ray,” he finally made out. And, yeah, they had been together non-stop for the last however-many-hours, but Ray got just what Fraser was saying.

 

“Me too, Frase. Miss you, miss this.”

 

Fraser bit softly at the underside of his arm, and Ray bucked up. Their cocks brushed, separated by four layers of fire-retardant cloth, but still closer than they had been in what felt like ages. Both men groaned and they pulled apart to strip more quickly. Fraser finished first and pushed Ray down as he was unlacing his second boot. Fraser’s hands were everywhere and Ray’s body surged up, looking for heat. He managed to scrape his boot off on the ground, but his pants dangled around his right calf and he still had one sock on. Not what Ray would have thought was a sexy look on him, but Fraser was almost wild, nipping and sucking at Ray’s skin. Fraser worked his way down to Ray’s belly, and then Ray felt his warm breath lower. He pushed up, wanting more, and yelled as he felt Fraser’s warm lips close over him.

 

Ray felt Fraser’s lips curve up into a smile. Then all Ray felt was _hot_ and _wet_ and _more_ as Fraser lowered his mouth. Fraser licked and sucked and Ray moaned and bucked. Fraser pinned his hips down and Ray tried to get his body under control. Ray heard Fraser take a breath, then felt Fraser push down further, taking Ray all the way in. Ray lifted his head to see and his hands flew up to hold onto Fraser’s hair. Fraser made a face that was as close to a smirk as you could get with a cock in your mouth and then the bastard swallowed around Ray. Ray’s head slammed down into the ground and his toes curled up.

 

“Jesus, Fraser. Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” he panted. Fraser swallowed again and then pulled back a little to breathe again. Ray tugged frantically at Fraser’s hair, “Fraser. Almost there, Frase. Gonna come.”

 

Fraser ignored his warning and went back down again. The next time Fraser’s throat closed around him, Ray came with a shout. Fraser pulled back, sucking softly and swallowing as Ray’s seed filled his mouth. When he was too sensitive, Ray pulled up on Fraser’s hair again.

 

“Oh god, Frase… _Fuck_. Good, so fucking good,” Ray babbled. His own voice was rough and he wondered idly just how loudly he had yelled.

 

Fraser kissed him, and Ray mustered up the energy to throw an arm around his neck. Ray tasted something salty and oily on Fraser’s tongue.

 

“That what I taste like?” panted Ray. Fraser moaned and rubbed his own erection against Ray’s naked belly. “Tastes like shit,” Ray added.

 

Fraser shook his head. “It’s _good_ , Ray,” he panted, pumping his hips faster. “Tastes so good. Love…tasting you, love…” Fraser went rigid and Ray felt a gush of warm fluid spread across his stomach. Fraser collapsed in a heap on top of him.

 

oOo

 

When Fraser opened his eyes again, the sun had risen quite a bit in the sky. Reluctantly, he shook Ray awake so they could get dressed and head back to base camp.

 

“Ow, _ow_ ,” groused Ray as he pulled on his pants. “I think there’s a pinecone up my ass, and I have a permanent bruise from that rock.”

 

As he did most mornings, Fraser cheerfully ignored Ray’s complaining. Fraser finished dressing and then pulled some pemmican and a canteen out of his pack. He offered to share his breakfast with Ray, but Ray turned him down, rummaging in his own pack. Fraser watched in horrified fascination as Ray emptied a packet of instant coffee crystals directly into his mouth, took a swish of lemon-lime Gatorade, and swallowed the whole mess down.

 

“Mmmm, breakfast of champions.”

 

Fraser’s mouth gaped for a moment longer before he found words again. “Ray, I believe that is the single most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

“Oh please, Fraser, I’ve eaten way grosser stuff than that. Besides, you weren’t too picky about what went in _your_ mouth a few hours ago.”

 

Ray leered. Fraser lunged. Fraser had Ray pinned again and kissed him for a few minutes before Ray sighed.

 

“Come on, Frase. We’ve got to go. Any longer and they’ll send out a search party to see what happened to us.”

 

Fraser saw the wisdom in what Ray was saying. Reluctantly, he stood and pulled Ray up after him.

 

“Besides,” Ray continued, “I am too damn old to roll around on the ground. And what I have in mind requires a nice, comfy bed.” He paused to consider. “Well, _a_ bed, anyway. We’ve got to work within our limitations.”

 

Fraser spent the hike back happily wondering what exactly Ray had in mind for them. His mood was broken as soon as they got within sight of the base camp, though. He could tell from 100 yards away something had happened. Groups of men milled around, far too quiet for crews just off a fire, and all carefully avoiding the Bradshaw Mountain crew. His own crew was a wreck. Tank and Javie were sitting on the ground and appeared to be crying. Dewey and Moose were holding Huey, who was yelling, “No!” and trying to run away. Fraser and Ray sprinted across the remaining distance as fast as they could.

 

“What? What? Tell me what happened!” yelled Ray.

 

Fraser put a restraining arm on him as he leaned over Tank and Javie, shouting. Ray rounded on Fraser, shaking off his arm and glaring at him from stranger’s eyes. For a moment, Fraser thought Ray was going to hit him.

 

“Gardino,” said Moose.

 

Fraser looked over. Huey had given up his fight and was lying on the ground crying. Dewey looked shaken and Moose looked broken.

 

“They found Louis. In his shake n bake. He got burned over. Didn’t make it.”

 

oOo

 

Ray hated being a supervisor, having to make those calls, wondering what he could have done differently. Were the guys too far apart on the line? Was Gardino trained well enough to be sent out on his own? If Ray had slept the night before instead of staying up fucking around and talking with Fraser, would he have made different decisions?

 

These thoughts were the only ones going through Ray’s mind, but he must have given orders at some point because all his men – all his _remaining_ men – were pilled into their trucks, heading back up to Bradshaw Mountain.

 

Ray went through the rest of the day in a haze of grief and sleep-deprivation. At some point he showered. At some point, he yelled at Fraser when for nagging at him to eat something. It was after sunset when Welsh showed up. Ray gathered the crew into the conference room.

 

“Gentlemen, I know you haven’t slept, and believe me, I know what kind of day you’re having, so I’ll be brief. First, I have notified Mr. and Mrs. Gardino that their son has died. They are making arrangements to have his body sent back to Bumble Bee. I’ll let you know when the funeral will be. Second, I saw the coroner. The official cause of death will be smoke inhalation. I told the family Louis didn’t suffer. None of you will contradict that, even though we all know better.” Welsh paused to look over the group. “Finally, the preliminary report is back. Gardino wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He ended up on the northeast side of a hill he had no business being near, closer to the fire than any of you should have been and well beyond the safety zone.” Chatter broke out in the back of the room. Welsh raised his voice over it. “I will let you know when the final report comes out. That’s all I have for you. You’re all on leave until I say so. It’s a hell of a thing, losing a crewmate. I’m sorry for all of you.”

 

As soon as the door shut behind Welsh, Dewey piped up.

 

“Gardino wasn’t where he was supposed to be, where Ray and Huey told him to be. It was his own fault then.”

 

Ray felt a blind rage start to descend on him and forced himself to unclench his fist and breathe. Fraser seemed to sense that Ray needed a fight and dragged him back to their room so Ray could rant in private. As soon as the door shut behind them, Ray exploded.

 

“These kids are paid ten bucks an hour to risk their lives, Fraser. That’s all they’re worth. You would think those guys out there would be pissed about _that_ , but they’re not. They just nod like, okay, yeah, that was his look out, too bad, so sad, now he’s dead….Back in Chicago, I get it. We go out, it’s someone’s life, someone’s home. But wildland is different. What did Gardino die for, huh? What? A bunch of fucking trees and some squirrels? To make sure the fire didn’t spread up to some billionaires’ vacation property in California? What the _fuck_ did Gardino die for?”

 

“I don’t know what he died for, Ray. But he _lived_ to fight fire, just like all those men down the hall. You ask any one of them what they do and they all say _’I’m a firefighter’_ even though 9 months of the year they are actually students or busboys or stockboys.”

 

Fraser put a hand on Ray’s arm. Ray shook him off and started pacing.

 

“Ray, I know Dewey can be…abrasive…but he’s not wrong. Wildland firefighters, we all risk our lives on our own skills. A good wildland firefighter isn’t one who pushes boundaries, it’s one who knows his limits. In the end, it is a comfort to the rest of them that Gardino is dead because he wasn’t a competent fireman. It sounds cruel, but it means that everyone else can go on telling themselves it won’t happen to them, because they know what they’re doing.”

 

“You’re right, that is no comfort at all. Back home, one of ours dies in the line of duty, it’s parades and bagpipes and dress uniforms and widow’s and orphan’s funds. Here, we just say, _well he must have fucked up_. Not fair.”

 

oOo

 

“No, Ray, it’s not fair.” Fraser sighed and wished he could come up with the words that would comfort Ray. “But it is what it is, and we can’t change that now.”

 

“I know that Fraser, I know I can’t change it, I just—“ Ray sighed, “I just wish I could understand it.”

 

“Come lay down,” Fraser invited, pulling Ray back toward his bed.

 

The two men squeezed onto the narrow bed together, lying face to face, legs entangled, sharing Ray’s pillow. Fraser let Ray talk himself out, holding him close and rubbing small circles on his back. He wasn’t very experienced at offering physical comfort, but he remembered being soothed like this by his mother before she had died. Ray seemed to respond to it as well, slowing his breathing and letting go of some of his anger and pain. Fraser watched Ray as he slowly drifted off, startling himself awake every few minutes, checking to make sure Fraser was still there. Ray had curled up on Fraser’s arm and Fraser knew he would lose feeling by morning, but he wouldn’t have moved it for the world. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had something to give in a relationship, that Ray needed him and was better off for him having been there.

 

Fraser must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew he was being kissed awake. The overhead light was still on, but the night was dark outside the window. Ray was pulling urgently at his clothes and nipping at his mouth, his neck, his ear.

 

“Ray,” he croaked.

 

“Frase, I need you. Okay?”

 

“Anything.”

 

Ray moaned at his response and clawed at their clothes. Ray got Fraser’s shirt off and then sat up and ripped his own off. Ray was scrabbling at his jeans then, and when he looked up at Fraser with his hot, hungry eyes, Fraser’s hands went to his own pants. There were a few minutes of awkward wriggling, but then there was nothing but warm, perfect skin.

 

Fraser groaned at the first press of flesh to flesh and pulled Ray closer. Ray was fully hard between them, and already pushing desperately into Fraser’s hip. Fraser kissed Ray’s jaw, his neck, his collar bone. Ray gasped and his hips came off the bed when Fraser made it down to his nipples. Fraser could tell that Ray was too wound up to take much more teasing. Fraser switched to Ray’s other nipple and slid his hand down Ray’s stomach to play with the thatch of dark blonde hair between his legs.

 

Ray bucked again as the back of Fraser’s hand brushed his cock. Fraser heard his name and “please” in the needy litany coming from Ray’s mouth. Fraser couldn’t draw out the tease any longer, so he kissed his way down Ray’s abdomen. Fraser’s mouth closed on the head of Ray’s cock and Ray shouted before slapping his hand over his mouth to stifle his noises. Urged on by Ray’s hips, Fraser set up a fast rhythm with strong suction. This time, Fraser slid his finger into his own mouth, wetting it in a very obvious way, waiting for Ray to protest. Ray didn’t object, so Fraser used the wet finger to circle Ray’s hole. Fraser heard Ray gasp at the unfamiliar pressure, but then Ray rocked his hips harder, pushing up into Fraser’s mouth and down onto that finger. After a minute, Fraser angled his finger up and pressed in just a little. Ray moaned and pushed down harder into Fraser’s touch. With that tacit permission, Fraser slipped the finger deeper into Ray’s body, searching for that spot that would make him lose control. Ray cried out around a mouthful of his own arm when Fraser hit his prostate. A few seconds later, Fraser felt Ray tighten and twitch beneath him and Ray’s seed filled his mouth. Fraser softened the suction but held Ray gently another moment, savoring the closeness that came with physical intimacy.

 

Fraser felt hands on his shoulders tugging at him and finally looked up. Ray’s eyes were wide and shiny and slightly dazed. His mouth hung open, but the corners pulled up into a small smile as Fraser moved up Ray’s body.

 

“Wow,” Ray whispered in a hoarse voice. “Did I say ‘wow’ before? Because you are something else.”

 

Fraser smiled at Ray, glad to see him calm and relaxed, most of the pain from the previous evening gone. Fraser kissed Ray’s slack mouth and rolled out of bed to turn off the light. He tamped down on his own desire and focused on holding Ray again.

 

“Frase? Don’t you want me to…”

 

“Shh, Ray, go back to sleep.”

 

“But you didn’t come yet.”

 

“I dare say I’ll survive,” Fraser said, but Ray moved his hand between them and Fraser’s needy moan undermined his statement.

 

“Frase?” Ray whispered. “I’m gonna try. It won’t be as good as you, but I want to try. Okay?”

 

Fraser was still trying to parse out what Ray meant when he felt Ray move in the dark. Ray slid lower, being very careful where he put his knees, until he was level with Fraser’s erection. Fraser could feel Ray’s breath and knew he was close. Fraser froze, trying to be patient and wait for Ray to take the next step. He was rewarded a few moments later when Ray’s tongue traced a warm, wet line up his cock. Fraser groaned and did his best not to thrust up into Ray’s mouth. Ray teasingly shushed Fraser, and it was his turn to smother his sounds. Ray licked him again, startling a thrust out of Fraser before he could control himself. Fraser wished the lights were on so he could see his lover’s mouth shaped around his cock, but the darkness made Ray’s touches all the more surprising and intoxicating. Ray soon stopped teasing and closed his mouth around Fraser, sucking and tonguing him. Fraser groaned into his hand, pressed the backs of his knees into the bed, and curled up his toes in an effort not to thrust into Ray’s throat. Ray wasn’t experienced with this and Fraser had to remember not to thrust, not to—oh god! Fraser lost himself in Ray’s rhythm and he felt Ray’s hand close around the base of his cock. Good, at least Ray wouldn’t choke. Fraser held on as long as he could, but all too soon, he was murmuring,

 

“Ray, Ray, Ray…let go, I can’t stop, I’m going to come, Ray, Ray.”

 

Ray didn’t let go and Fraser spilled into Ray’s mouth. Ray coughed once, but held on, swallowing again and again until he had it all. Then he crawled up Fraser, flopping down half on top of him.

 

“So hot, Frase, you are so fucking hot.”

 

Fraser turned toward Ray’s voice and took his lips in a kiss. He could feel Ray’s self-satisfied grin, and he tried to put all his appreciation into his kisses. After a solid few minutes of making out, Ray shifted off Fraser’s chest and curled up against him. This time Fraser fell asleep first.

 

oOo

 

The phone startled them awake early the next morning. “Huh?” Ray grunted. By the time Ray had placed the noise, Fraser had gotten up and answered it.

 

“Bradshaw Mountains outpost, Kowalski-Fraser residence, Benton Fraser speaking…Hi Ray…Well, yes, but I had planned – ...Of course, Ray. I’ll be over there within the hour.”

 

Ray was already glaring at Fraser’s back before he even hung up the phone.

 

“Going somewhere, Frase?”

 

“Yes, Ray. Ray Vecchio asked me to come to the restaurant.”

 

“And, naturally, you said yes,” Ray said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Bet you want to borrow my car too, to get there faster.”

 

Fraser smoothed his eyebrow. “Well, yes, Ray, that would be convenient, though I can walk or hitchhike if necessary.”

 

“So what’s so damn important at 7am on a Sunday, huh?”

 

“I don’t know, Ray.”

 

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

 

“Ray didn’t want to get into details over the telephone, but he said it was important.”

 

“And that was enough?”

 

“He said he needs me.”

 

“Fraser, **I** need you. Me, right here. In case you forgot, some bad shit happened this week, and I _need_ you.”

 

Fraser sighed his most weary sigh and rubbed at his eyebrow again.

 

“No, Ray,” he said gently, “You don’t need me. You _want_ me to stay, but Gardino has already died. Me being here today can’t do anything to change that now. Ray needs me. He asked for my help with something.”

 

“But you don’t even know _what_ you’re helping with! How can that trump being here when I need you?”

 

Fraser didn’t answer right away, and his face had this horrible apologetic-but-implacable look to it. Ray knew when he’d lost, and he’d learned from years with Stella that it was better to concede and run off to lick his wounds than to push it past this point. Ray sighed, scrubbed his hand over his stubble. Then stared at Fraser a while, willing him to _get_ just how much he needed to not be alone right now, but Fraser stayed quiet. Ray nodded, grabbed his jeans off the floor, and threw his keys at Fraser.

 

“Fine, then. You’ve clearly made up your mind already.”

 

“Ray, I’m sorry I can’t be in two places at once. But hopefully I’ll be back with you all the more quickly thanks to the loan of your car.”

 

Ray snorted. “Yeah, that’s real buddies of me, _partners_. You know, Stella always used to talk a good game too about being partners. But she was never there when I needed her either.”

 

“Ray…” Fraser started, looking torn. “I’ll be back soon and we’ll talk about this.”

 

oOo

 

Fraser was anxious the whole way into town, but he still didn’t see that he could have done anything differently. Ray Vecchio was a friend, and when a friend asks for you help, you are obliged to answer the call, no matter what else you’re doing. Fraser didn’t want to think it was just personal jealousy that motivated Ray to ask him to stay that morning, but he didn’t see how it was possible that his Ray thought he would be able to do anything to help him deal with Gardino’s death. Fraser tried to shake off the fight, pasting on a smile as he got out of the car to greet Irene.

 

“Good morning, Irene. Ray called me this morning. How may I be of service?”

 

Irene led Fraser toward the back of the restaurant. “There’s been a fire in the back room. When we got in to open this morning, we noticed it smelled burnt. Ray investigated and found a trashcan smoldering in the store room.”

 

“Good lord, was anyone hurt? Is anything damaged?”

 

“No, no one was here. The damage isn’t too bad. The wall above the trashcan is a bit blackened, but nothing else caught fire.”

 

She stopped just before the door and turned to look at him.

 

“The thing is… Ray thinks it was set on purpose. We can’t figure out why anything we could have thrown in here would catch fire.”

 

Fraser got pretty much the same story from Ray Vecchio, who was looking uncharacteristically worried. As they squatted, sifting through the charred contents of the can, Vecchio turned to him.

 

“Benny, is there any way to tell if this was arson? I can’t lose this place, it’s our life’s blood. And what if, God forbid, there were people here? Customers, or Irene baking, Frannie locking up late. I have to know, Benny, so I can protect them.”

 

Fraser sniffed at the bits of paper and licked the corner of one he thought he smelled faintly of gasoline.

 

“I’m sorry, Ray, but I just don’t have enough experience with this to know what I’m looking for. But Ray Kowalski was a structural firefighter for 15 years. He would know what kinds of things to look for in a fire that was intentionally set. You should ask him.”

 

“I don’t really think he’d be willing to help out though, Benny. He’s not exactly my biggest fan, you know.”

 

“He’ll come, Ray. He’s a good man and he would never refuse to help when needed. I’ll ask him this afternoon if you’d rather not call him yourself, but I am confident that he will come back with me to look at this.”

 

oOo

 

Ray sighed, again, loudly, as he pointed his car toward Prescott to go help out a guy he didn’t even like. Fraser had no idea of the power of those earnest eyes of his. He just _assumed_ you’d be doing whatever he asked you to, The Right Thing, and you just couldn’t let him down. Ray was somewhat mollified by the proud, gratified expression on Fraser’s face when Ray agreed to go, but 15 minutes into the drive, he was beginning to regret his choice. It was 120 degrees outside, and just how bad could Fraser’s disappointed face be, anyway? Ray shuddered. Stella had had one hell of a disappointed face, and he had seen it often enough in those last few years to still be able to call it up perfectly in his mind’s eye. Ray sighed and decided he was going to do everything in his power to avoid seeing that look on Fraser’s face, even if it meant spending the day with Vecchio.

 

It took Vecchio a long time to open up after Ray knocked – okay, pounded – on the door.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“What do _I_ want, Vecchio?! You’re the one who summoned me, what the hell do _you_ want?”

 

“I told Ray about your fire,” Fraser put in helpfully.

 

Vecchio’s eyes flicked away and then came back. “Oh yeah, that. Turns out it was nothing. Never mind.”

 

“Ray, I think we should still—“

 

“Benny, I said never mind. Jesus, you firebugs. I mentioned a tiny little trashcan fire and you practically pee yourselves with excitement.” Vecchio looked intently at Ray as he said this, and Ray started to get an inkling of what was going on.

 

“Ray,” protested Fraser, “That’s hardly fair. Afterall—“

 

“No, Frase,” Ray broke in. “It’s okay. Vecchio wants us gone, we’re gone,” Ray eyed Vecchio carefully and then thumbed his nose as if it itched. Apparently Ray had read Vecchio right, and Vecchio had seen _The Sting_ as many times as Ray had, because Vecchio nodded slowly and thumbed his nose back at Ray.

 

“Catch up with you guys later,” said Vecchio as he closed the door in their faces.

 

“Ray, what was –“

 

“Just get in the car, Frase,” Ray said under his breath, hoping Fraser would pick up on his cues. Ray drove around the corner to a gas station and pulled up in front of the pay phones. To his dismay, both of them were out of order. Ray tapped on the Plexiglas hut of the Circle K and yelled though for the attendant to call 911 and send the cops to Vecchio’s. Then he grabbed Fraser and pulled him through three parking lots and around to the back door of the restaurant.

 

Ray tried the doorknob, but of course it was locked.

 

“Hey, Frase, I don’t suppose one of those Mountie skills you taught yourself to impress your old man was how to get through locked doors?”

 

“Actually, yes, Ray. I just need a bit of metal…”

 

While Fraser looked around on the ground, Ray opened his wallet and pulled off the money clip.

 

“Will this work?”

 

Fraser’s face lit up. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

 

A minute later, the two men were in the back room of the restaurant, carefully sneaking toward the main dinning room. Ray peeked around the corner and saw Turnbull unconscious on the floor, Frannie and Irene held at gunpoint by a teenager, and Vecchio emptying a wall safe for another teenager. Ray pulled a leg off one of the wooden chairs stashed in the back awaiting repair. Fraser grabbed another. They sat in hiding, watching, waiting for the police to arrive. Ray saw that the teen holding the women hostage was sweaty and shaking. _A tweaker crashing_ , he thought. _If he loses it before the cops get here…_

 

Ray looked over at Fraser, and, from the grim line of Fraser’s mouth, he was thinking the same thing. Fine then, thought Ray, we’re doing this. He bobbed his head at Fraser, silently counting to three, and the two men snuck out. Fraser went left, toward Vecchio, and Ray went right, toward the other hostages. Ray glanced over at Fraser a few times, charting his progress across the room and matching his speed, but then all his attention focused on the teen as he closed in. Frannie saw Ray and couldn’t keep the surprise off her face, but Ray was in motion before the kid had turned all the way around. He swung the chair leg up, connecting with the underside of the kid’s wrist, stunning him and sending his gun flying. The kid dove after the gun, and Ray brought his make-shift bat down again on the back of his head. The kid went limp. Ray sent up a brief prayer to whoever was listening that he was okay as he traded his chair leg for the gun. He glanced over at Fraser, saw that he had hog-tied his would-be robber with what appeared to be a bolo tie, and worked on untying Frannie and Irene.

 

They heard sirens outside and Ray Vecchio went out to meet the police. Fraser was now leaning over Turnbull, feeling for the man’s pulse. Then, because he was Fraser, he checked on the criminal too.

 

“They’re both unconscious, but with strong pulses. We need to get them to a hospital to have them checked for concussion and monitored.”

 

Ray smiled up at his lover, a good man who managed to sound just as concerned over some punk kid that held his friends at gunpoint as he did about the man he’d trusted with his life for three years. He had no idea what Fraser saw in his smile, but Fraser gave him a warm half-grin in return.

 

oOo

 

Fraser spent the rest of the afternoon in the hospital. He reassured himself none of the Vecchio clan were injured. He filled out admissions paperwork for Turnbull to the best of his ability, repeating the facts as he knew them to the charge nurse, the doctor, Welsh, and then Thatcher. Turnbull came around fairly quickly, but it took hours to get him a CT to clear him of a brain bleed. After the doctors said he was out of danger and would suffer only a headache from his ordeal, Fraser and both Rays were taken to the police station. They spent the evening going over the story again and again.

 

It was late when he and Ray got back to the Outpost, and early when they woke up the next morning to ride with the crew out to Bumble Bee for Gardino’s funeral. They crew turned out in their best jeans, button-up shirts, and freshly shined boots. No one had much to say as they sorted themselves into cars. Huey drove Gardino’s pick-up. A box of Gardino’s things from their room was on the passenger seat. The convoy made their way down the mountain and over a winding set of small roads. Eventually, they hit I-17 and made it to Bumble Bee in time for the 10 am service.

 

Fraser didn’t know what to expect from Gardino’s family, but Ray was tense beside him, waiting for the worst. After the service, the crew stood to one side and waited until the family approached them. Huey hugged Louis’s brother and passed him the keys to the truck. Mr. Gardino shook each of their hands solemnly. Mrs. Gardino hugged them all, clinging especially to Huey and then to Ray.

 

“God be with each of us, my boys. I know how much Louis loved firefighting. It was all he talked about when he was home. You all were family to him, too. If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

 

Fraser didn’t hear what Ray said to her in response, but both were teary and smiling when they pulled apart.

 

The crew held a wake for Louis when they got back to the Outpost. There were more people there than Fraser could count. Welsh came, as did Thatcher, Turnbull, and Frannie. The crew from the Drake Outpost were all there, as well as a dozen others he didn’t know. Someone – he suspected Frannie and Turnbull – had brought food, and several of the guests had brought bottles. Gardino was toasted and remembrances were shared. Eventually the crowd thinned and Fraser was able to find a seat.

 

Someone had apparently brought a guitar to the wake, as there was one leaning against the side of the couch next to him. Fraser picked it up and strummed softly it a few times, lost in the sound of the strings. He let fingers fiddle for a while; not paying any attention to the familiar process, until he recognized the tune his subconscious was strumming. His heart clenched and he swallowed painfully a few times before his voice joined in the dirge. He was on the second verse before he heard Turnbull, Thatcher and Welsh join in. The room quieted and everyone listened as they sang softly:

 

August 'Forty-Nine, north Montana

The hottest day on record, the forest tinder dry

Lightning strikes in the mountains

I was crew chief at the jump base, I prepared the boys to fly

Pick the drop zone, C-47 comes in low

Feel the tap upon your leg that tells you go

See the circle of the fire down below

Fifteen of us dropped above the cold Missouri waters

 

Gauged the fire, I'd seen bigger

So I ordered them to sidehill and we'd fight it from below

We'd have our backs to the river

We'd have it licked by morning even if we took it slow

But the fire crowned, jumped the valley just ahead

There was no way down, headed for the ridge instead

Too big to fight it, we'd have to fight that slope instead

Flames one step behind above the cold Missouri waters

 

Sky had turned red, smoke was boiling

Two hundred yards to safety, death was fifty yards behind

I don't know why I just thought it

I struck a match to waist high grass running out of time

Tried to tell them, Step into this fire I set

We can't make it, this is the only chance you'll get

But they cursed me, ran for the rocks above instead

I lay face down and prayed above the cold Missouri waters

 

And when I rose, like the phoenix

In that world reduced to ashes there were none but two survived

I stayed that night and one day after

Carried bodies to the river, wondering how I stayed alive

Thirteen stations of the cross to mark to their fall

I've had my say, I'll confess to nothing more

I'll join them now, those that left me long before

Thirteen crosses high above the cold Missouri waters

Thirteen crosses high above the cold Missouri shore

 

Fraser’s voice gave out halfway through the last verse and his fingers fumbled. He felt a hand come down on his shoulder and recognized Ray’s touch. It gave him the strength to keep playing, though only Meg Thatcher was able to sing through to the end.

 

Ray leaned down over Fraser’s shoulder and whispered, “You did good, Frase. That was perfect.”

 

Welsh swiped at his eyes and cleared his throat. “Very nice, Fraser. And thanks to our other Canadian friends for carrying us all through that old song. It’s never easy to lose a crew-member to The Black Ghost. But the best thing we can do to honor Gardino’s memory is to continue to do the job that he loved enough to give his life for. You’re all off tomorrow, but I want you back out first thing Wednesday. We _need_ you out there. We need men – and women –“ he glanced at Thatcher, “with the desire to serve…”

 

The rest of the room joined in the chorus, “…the courage to act, and the ability to perform.”

Fraser looked over at Ray. They would get through this, together. Together, they could get through anything.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Minor character death. SPOILERS: I killed Victoria and Gardino, both off-screen.
> 
> Dialog from _Due South_ episodes “Victoria’s Secret: Part 1”, “Red, White, and Blue”, “Juliet is Bleeding”, “Eclipse” and “Call of the Wild”, which belong to Alliance and the Pauls. Lyrics from “Fire” by Bruce Springsteen and “Cold Missouri Waters” by James Keelaghan.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Illustrating "Chasing Smoke" by hazelwho](https://archiveofourown.org/works/231979) by [omens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omens/pseuds/omens)




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